#pain and death and suffering and hell forever

[soft--dogs]

fuuuuuuck idk if i can keep going on like this folks

[zipstick]

fuck school. this sucks. im hittin da bricks. real winners quit

[ariiiloves]

I love this fic 😭💗

a safe haven l chapter six part I (j. miller)

series masterlist l previous chapter

summary: Joel opens up to you about a very traumatic loss; he makes a confession about his feelings towards you; you make a confession of your own and it leads to something more.

pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic Female Reader

warnings/tags 🏷️ 18+ only, minors dni. fluff that turns into a heaping helping of angst; Joel talks about Sarah’s death and the aftermath; SMUT; oral sex (male receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up folks) size mention because I am convinced Joel is packing, reader somewhat discovers she’s into praise; honestly this part is like 50% smut so proceed with caution.

word count: 8.4k

a/n 📝 it’s midnight and I have to be at work tomorrow l o l but it’s cool. so this chapter ended up getting split into two parts, I posted a preview a week ago but turns out that preview is now considered a preview for part 2. I am shizzing bricks over this one, it’s my second time writing full on smut and we all know Vee is not good at smut so….yeah. okay enough rambling. 💀

PS: don’t @ me about the gif, I know that’s not Joel but I mean LOOK AT HIM.

Caught up in a web

I was gettin’  kind of used to stayin’ there

and out of the blue, I fell for you

now I remember what it feels like to fly

you give me butterflies

The next two and a half weeks that had passed on by had done so without major incident, but things had taken a somewhat complicated turn.

You and Joel had still managed to see one another a handful of times even with the insane amount of hours he was putting into his patrol duties, though it wasn’t nearly as often as either of you wanted or would have preferred; but it had to make do. After numerous sightings of a group of potential raiders earlier on in the month, Tommy had no choice but to assign every last competent, able bodied patrol person, including himself, to work double shifts to ensure the safety and security of Jackson. He and Joel had come across the remnants of a campsite just about fifteen miles west of the settlement and they worried the group was hiding out, planning a violent, ambush attack on the community when it was least expected. Tommy had done his absolute best to keep the word from spreading throughout the commune to avoid panic, but he found himself having to fess up when people went up to him and all but furiously demanded to know the truth—the real reason behind why their loved ones were now being asked to be on the other side of wall twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.

Joel, who you’d come to learn had been one of the sharpest and strongest shooters out of everybody in Jackson besides his brother, reluctantly took on the role of a lead patrolman. He had been given an absurd amount of double shifts to work, making it almost impossible for you to see each other; you’d understood he had no choice, but still, that hadn’t made the situation any easier to deal with. Both of you tried to make the very best with the little time you’d managed to get together, but it hadn’t been nearly enough. As if not being able to see him was not agonizing enough, the fact that he was out on the other side of the wall scared the hell out of you and the only way to keep yourself from losing your goddamned mind was to distract yourself. You did everything that you could to keep your mind of off Joel being out there—burying yourself deeply into your work had helped for the most part.

Besides that, Joel had asked you as a favor to him, if you could keep your watchful eye on Ellie during his absence. You’d spend most of the day with her in the stables, you had lunch with her in the dining hall along with Dina—in the evening, you would go home and make dinner early enough and fix up an extra plate of food for her so she had a homemade meal to enjoy instead of two decades old ravioli in a can; you would take it over to her place and drop it off before Luke came home from the clinic. Ellie waited until it was late in the evening to return the plate back to you, and the two of you would take a lengthy, late night walk through the town, keeping each other company for a while before heading off to bed. She hadn’t seemed to be all too concerned about Joel, but then again, Ellie had known better than you did that he could take care of himself out there just fine. If anything, you spending so much time with her had been more for your benefit than hers, and you started to suspect that just like Joel had asked you to keep an eye on Ellie, he had also asked her to keep an eye on you too. After all, you had made it abundantly clear to him that you were nervous about him being out on patrol while there was a possible threat looming in the shadows.

By the time the middle of August came around, no additional signs of the group had been found; they seemed to have vanished into thin air. Tommy and Maria decided to ease up and end the double shift assignments, allowing every single patrolman and woman to return to their normally scheduled work rotation. Joel went back to his usual early morning and afternoon patrol hours, which meant the both of you could resume your meetings out behind the barn underneath the stars.

 “I missed you,” You said, letting out a little sigh of content as you leaned your weight against him.

You and Joel were sitting out on the large patch of grassy field behind the barn, his soft green flannel blanket acting as a barrier between your body and the itchiness of the ground. You were nestled right in the spot between his long legs, back against his chest as the two of you shared the deliciously ripe peach that he’d brought along with him as well.

“Mm, probably not as much as I was missing you,” Joel replied with a hum before taking a bite of the fruit. Noticing that there were only just a couple of bites left, he reached his arm around you and held it out. “Here darlin’ I want you you have the rest.”

“These will be out of season soon enough.” Giving a sad little pout to nobody in particular, you let out a small sigh before sinking your teeth into the fruit you loved so much. Through a small mouthful, you realized, “Who knows when we’ll ever get peaches around here again.”

Joel’s lips met the spot on your neck right behind your ear and you felt him grin. “That’s alright with me. I’ve got my sweet little Peach right here, and I got her all year round.”

You playfully elbowed him in the chest.

After polishing off the rest of the peach, you licked off the pit and the tossed it out into the distance.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to litter,” he joked.

“It’s biodegradable,” You retorted with a tiny laugh as you leaned your head back against his shoulder and gazed up at the stars that sprinkled the velvet night skies. “Or at least, I think it is. Come to think of it, I never did pay attention in life science when I was in FEDRA school.”

You reached up and gathered your hair, bringing it over your shoulder so it wouldn’t be in Joel’s face.

“Mm,” he whispered, licking his lips as his eyes fell to the delicate flesh of your now exposed neck. He ghosted his mouth right over your pulse point and his warm breath fanned against your cool skin in a way that made your eyes flutter closed. “Temptin’ me on purpose now, aren’t you?”

“I would never do such a thing,” You replied in your most innocent, good girl tone although he clocked the smirk behind it. A comfortable silence fell over the both of you and while you’d normally welcome the peaceful, tranquil moment with him, tonight it felt impossible. You had gone so long without Joel over the last couple of weeks—at least, it certainly had felt long—and you realized one of things you’d missed most about him was the sound of his deep voice. “Ask me a question, Joel.”

“What kind of question can I ask?”

“You can ask me anything you want. No limits.”

Joel hummed curiously to himself for a second or two as he tried to think of a question he hadn’t yet asked you before. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Really?” You snorted, trying to hide your laughter as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “I just told you that you can ask me anything you want and that’s your question? What’s my favorite color?”

“Yeah. I wanna know what it is.”

He turned his head, lifting it slightly to press a soft kiss against your temple. Joel could not for the life of him even remember the last time he had shown this kind of physical tenderness with anybody, not in this way. Forehead kisses, holding your hand, all sorts of little tokens of affection he hadn’t thought he could still be capable of giving to someone had come to him so naturally—you had brought out an entirely different side of him that had been buried behind a rough exterior for well over two decades, and the part that Joel couldn’t quite wrap his own head around was that you had done it with such ease.

Hell, you’d done it without even really trying.

“So?” Joel prompted you. “What is it?”

“It’s brown,” You answered. 

“Why brown?”

“Because. It’s earthy, it’s warm—and your eyes are brown,” You stated, grinning to yourself as you felt his loud laugh rumble through his broad chest and against your back. “What about you? I mean that’s if Joel Miller even has a favorite color,” You giggled teasingly, placing a hand on one of his blue-denim clad legs as you then added, “Actually, I’m kind of curious now. Do you have a favorite color?”

Joel hesitated, hanging onto his answer.

“I do. It’s purple,” he finally responded after a brief bout of silence. “Purple’s my favorite color.”

“Purple?” You repeated after him, finding yourself unable to mask the surprise in your tone. “Really?”

Joel chuckled. “What? That weird or somethin’?”

“Uh, sort of. You just don’t strike me as the kind of guy who would have a favorite color—even if you’d told me you did I would have never guessed that it was purple,” You admitted, sheepishly. You traced a small circle around his knee with your finger and curiously asked him, “Why’s purple your favorite?”

“Because. That’s my daughter’s favorite color.”

You scoffed playfully. “Ellie’s favorite color sure as hell is not purple, Joel. Her favorite color is green.”

When he spoke, his voice was so quiet, you almost hadn’t heard him despite such close proximity.

“I ain’t talkin’ about Ellie.”

It hadn’t taken you too long, maybe just one single second, to allow what he’d just said to click in your mind—Joel had another daughter. The smile you’d had on your face just a minute before had been all but smacked right off by some invisible force. In a state of shock, you slowly turned around between his legs to face him, looking at him with your wide eyes.

“Her name was Sarah,” he told you, softly. 

Was.

You’d immediately noticed his use of past tense.

You opened your mouth to speak, then clamped it shut. You suddenly remembered the way that he’d tap dance his way around certain details about his first life in Texas; whenever he spoke about his life before the outbreak, he would be careful to watch himself and his words. You had instantly known he had been keeping something from you, that there was something Joel wasn’t ready to talk about with you, but never would you have imagined that him having a daughter would be it.

You turned your body around completely, kneeling in front of him and sitting back onto your heels. In an effort to show him that you didn’t want to push him too hard too fast, you simply waited in silence for him to continue whenever he was ready.

“Her favorite color was purple. She’d wear it all the damn time. When she was nine, she begged me to to paint the walls of her bedroom purple. One day, I took her to Home Depot after school to look at all the different shades, tellin’ her I’d think about it—I went back to the store the next mornin’ while she was at school, bought a couple cans of the shade I knew she’d liked the most and by the time she got home from school that afternoon, I had it painted for her,” Joel explained to you, a sadness mixing in his tone along with fondness of the memory. “She loved purple. It was the color of the t-shirt she had been wearing the last time we were together.”

Your heart sank. “Joel, you don’t have to tell me—”

“It’s okay, Peach. I want to tell you about her,” Joel assured you reaching out for your hand and taking it in his own. “I trust you more than enough to tell you about her, alright?”

You nodded, lacing your fingers together with his.

“I was never married,” he’d started to say knowing whether or not he had a wife before the world had ended would be a question on your mind—that’s if it wasn’t already. “I was never with Sarah’s mom. I met her in high school and we’d been friends, but we never dated. We tried to, but it was just never a good fit. Sarah, she just sort of happened and her mom and me, well we both made an agreement to coparent her as best as we could considerin’ that we weren’t together. Just a few months shy of our daughter’s first birthday, she realized she couldn’t handle raisin’ a child with a man she wasn’t with. I tried so hard to convince her to stick around, but I couldn’t. She bailed out on me, but the worst part of it was that she bailed out on Sarah.”

He stopped for a moment and you gave his hand a gentle but firm encouraging squeeze.

“As if bein’ a father to a little baby girl didn’t scare the shit of me, being a single father made it all feel so much scarier. I was young, in my early twenties. I was always workin’ so damn much, tryin’ to build my construction business with Tommy. Now I had this tiny little person to take care of, and I honestly didn’t know how the fuck I was gonna do it.” Joel’s sixth sense must have detected the way that your knees were uncomfortable in the position you had been in; he paused just long enough to switch his and yours positions, closing his legs together and bringing you to sit on his lap. “It wasn’t easy and I probably made a lot more mistakes than I’d like to admit. But somehow, I made it work and it turned out alright. Sarah was my best friend in the whole entire world. Hell, I loved her more than fuckin’ life itself. She could be a handful, but she was perfect. She was my sweet little butterfly, a ray of sunshine on even the most darkest of days.”

You swallowed harshly. “What happened to her?”

Joel sighed, resting a hand on your bare thigh; his fingers skimmed the scalloped hem of your yellow polyester shorts. “It happened on the first night of the outbreak. We were tryin’ to get out of Austin—me, Sarah and Tommy. We didn’t know where the hell we were gonna go or what we were gonna do, but we just needed to get far from the city. We got separated at one point when our truck got into an awful wreck. I had Sarah in my arms, she’d broken her ankle in the crash. Tommy told me to get her to the river where she’d be safer, said he’d find his way there to meet us.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest. Part of you almost didn’t even want to hear how his story was going to end. But if Joel was telling you this, it was for a reason. He was opening up to you, sharing an incredibly difficult and heartbreaking loss. And he was doing it because he trusted you.

Draping an arm around his shoulders, you started to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck as you anxiously waited for him to recount the event that followed next, the event that would surely shatter your heart into a million pieces.

“The street was full of the infected. One caught us in its sights and chased after us. I tried to dodge it through some building, but it followed us, runnin’ us out into a field just a mile from the river. I didn’t think we were gonna escape it. I thought we were gonna get killed by that thing. Then, a soldier from the Army came outta nowhere and shot it dead. It felt like a damn miracle. I thought we were lucky. I thought we were gonna get some help.” His voice grew hoarse, thickening with the emotions that he wasn’t all too sure he could hold back this time. “I couldn’t have been more wrong. He was given the order by his command to kill us both, even though we weren’t sick. I tried tellin’ him over and over we weren’t sick but it didn’t matter. He shot at us. He grazed me in my side, but Sarah—he got her. Got her multiple times. I was foolish enough to think it hadn’t been fatal. I tried gettin’ her up, begged her to let me help her, I begged Tommy—but it’d been useless. Sarah died in my arms. She took her very last breath in some field outside of Austin.”

“God,” You whispered out shakily, a sharp aching sensation radiating throughout your chest. “Joel, I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.” Willing yourself to keep it together for his sake, you put a stop to your own incoming emotions and held the back of his neck in your palm, fingers coaxing him to look up and meet your gaze.

“After that, I didn’t see any point in carryin’ on. I’d lost the most important thing in the world to me. I couldn’t see in the darkness now that my little ray of light was gone. So I tried to end my own life,” he admitted. “I put the barrel of a gun to my temple. I told myself it was what I wanted to do and I pulled the trigger.”

Your opposite hand reached up to his right temple and your fingertips brushed against his small scar. You’d wanted to ask him about it before on several different occasions, but had never found the guts to actually do it. Now that you knew he’d gotten it from his own hand, it just made the entire thing all that much more heart wrenching.

“I’m sure you’ve guessed it by now, but I missed. I flinched and I missed. For twenty fuckin’ years, all that I could do was wish I hadn’t missed. I spent a long time hatin’ myself for missin’ what should’ve been the easiest damn shot of my entire life. Then Ellie came along.” Joel moved a hand, taking your chin gingerly between his thumb and index finger. “And not long after, I met you. The two of you just came at me outta nowhere, outta left fuckin’ field, bringin’ out sides of me I thought had been dead and buried for years now. You and her mean much more to me than I can explain. You and Ellie? You two are the most important things in the world to me now.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words. It wasn’t like you hadn’t known Joel cared, of course you knew that he cared about you. But the extent to which he did had been something of a mystery, at least up until this very moment.

“I didn’t know I could feel this way about a woman again,” Joel confessed. He slid an arm around you, pulling you closer. “Openin’ up my heart to Ellie, it was one thing—but then openin’ it up to you? That was different. It’s been somethin’ else, Peach. And I don’t think you realize the hold you have over me and over my heart. What really gets me is that you don’t even gotta try all that hard. All that you gotta do is look at me with those eyes, and give me that smile of yours. You’ve got me wrapped all the way around your little finger and then back again. You need to know I’d do just about fuckin’ anythin’ for you. You understand me?”

You stared at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“Joel, you really need to stop talking like that,” You told him once you’d managed to find your voice.

“Why?”

The words escaped you before you could even try to think about stopping them.

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The tables turned, and now it was Joel who was at a complete loss for words.

You began to ramble, feeling embarrassed. “Look, I know it’s probably stupid and ridiculous and—”

Still holding your chin, Joel carefully brought your face towards his, silencing you by pressing his lips to yours. He moved to hold the side of your face in his palm, forgetting about any kind of softness; he had kissed you plenty of times before and you had thought you knew all of his kisses well enough but you’d been wrong. This one was different than the rest. His lips moved against yours in a possessive manner, but not the kind of possessive that you’d gotten used to with Luke. No, with Joel, the way in which he was kissing you was possessive, but not out of control and abuse—it was out of pure need, want, and desire. Even as his mouth went hungrily at yours, you could still detect some tenderness in the way he was ravaging you.

“Joel,” You whimpered against him. “I—”

You faltered, unable to say those three words, not quite yet as there was a fear holding you back.

It only prompted him to deepen the embrace.

I love you.

Joel might not have been ready to say it either but he felt it and he hoped the way he was holding you and the way he was swelling your lips with his kiss reassured you that you weren’t the only one who’d fallen.

You shifted yourself in his lap, moving to straddle him, your legs on either side of his as your mouths remained latched to one another. He reached and grabbed for every single part of you that he could; running his hands all over you from your shoulders down to your hips, until they came down, cupping the delicious curves of your ass. You whimpered in his mouth again, and the moment your lips parted his tongue took advantage, darting inside to start the heated, unhinged dance with your own.

You clutched at his shoulders, your fingers curling around tight fistfuls of his faded black t-shirt in an attempt, and a very desperate one at that, to keep yourself planted on the ground; you held on trying to keep yourself tethered to planet earth, but with the way that his searing hot mouth moved against yours in perfect unison and the way you could feel him growing harder, straining up against the dark blue denim of his jeans as you straddled his lap, it was impossible. You were free falling, and without a fucking safety net.

Joel still tasted like the sweet fruit you’d shared, a an odd mix with the mint from his toothpaste. But there was something else he tasted like, and you’d tasted it several times before, however you had an incredibly tough time figuring out what it could be even after all this time. It just tasted like Joel. That was the only way you could think of to describe it; it just taste like Joel, and it was fucking addicting, and you wanted it on your lips forever.

At one point, you and Joel forced yourselves apart for some desperately needed oxygen.

“Joel,” You choked his name out in between heavy pants for air.

“Baby—” He was just about as breathless as you if not more. “Baby, I have to have you. Please. I have to have you now before I lose my goddamn mind.”

“Barn,” You rasped out, releasing his shirt.

Joel’s eyebrows knit together, confused. “Barn?”

“Barn,” You repeated as you climbed off of him.

You weren’t all too sure how you’d managed to get up onto your feet without fucking falling over. Your knees were wobbling, your legs were trembling—it felt like they were seconds from giving out, and all that you could do was hope they didn’t. You held a hand out to Joel, releasing a tiny, labored grunt as you helped him up off the ground. You reached for the flannel blanket, giving it a shake before taking his hand in yours and leading him around the barn and back to the front of it. Dropping his hand for a moment, you slid one of the double doors open an inch or two and peeked inside, being sure that the coast was clear. You proceeded to slide the door a bit further, just wide enough for the both of you to slip inside.

“Wait, how’d you know it would be unlocked?” He chuckled as he watched you slide the door closed.

“I didn’t know it would be unlocked. I was praying we’d get lucky,” You admitted to him, gesturing for him to follow you. “Come on.”

Through various cracks, gaps, and open windows, enough moonlight filtered into the barn, shining a decent amount of silver light into the structure so it wasn’t pitch black inside, leaving the two of you to stumble around in complete darkness. It would have made things a bit more complicated and less enjoyable if that had been the case. But thankfully the bright night sky stepped in to do you a favor.

Joel looked around. The last time he’d been inside the barn was in June for the summer party he and Ellie had joined you at. He remembered how clean and clear it had been, and now, about two months later, it was packed with countless bales of hay; in retrospect, he shouldn’t have been surprised. But as loose piles of the dried grass and herbs started to crunch under his boots, he remarked, “There is fuckin’ hay everywhere, baby.”

“Um, yeah. What else do you keep in a barn?” You kidded lightly. “Hey, at least they don’t keep goats and other livestock in here, Joel. Besides, beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

Joel snorted, masking his laughter at the thought of walking into a barn full of animals instead of an absurd amount of hay. “Yeah, that’s a good point.”

You led him over towards one of the corners of the barn, your eyes falling to a large, almost bed sized, pile of loose hay. You draped the blanket right over it and then suddenly froze for a minute, your body flooding with nerves once you’d realized what was inevitably about to happen between you and Joel.

You hadn’t done anything with him since the night he pleasured you out on his front porch. Of course you wanted more with him, but that didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking. You weren’t experienced, you had only ever been with one person, and even then, you didn’t want to count that because it had been such a long time since you’d found sex to be something you wanted, something you enjoyed. It made your skin crawl when Luke touched you, but when Joel Miller touched you?

It set you ablaze in the most incredible way.

And you feared your touch wouldn’t make him feel the same way.

You exhaled a shaky breath of air as his arms went around your waist from behind.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Joel murmured softly into your hair, sensing your pensiveness.

“I’m nervous,” You blurted out.

“I’m nervous too,” he confessed, quietly.

“What are you nervous about?”

Joel rested his chin on your shoulder. “We’ve both crossed a lot of lines already, Peach. But this one? It’s gonna be the one we can’t come back from. It might be what seals the deal with us, you know?”

Slowly, you turn around, your heart in your throat.

“Yeah, I know,” You responded, peeking up at him through the thickness of your eyelashes. “I know I should care, but I really don’t. It’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“It’s wrong,” he agreed. “But I don’t care either.”

Before you could even utter another word about it, Joel crashed his mouth to yours once again. He’d snaked one of his arms around you, while he lifted his other and cupped the back of your neck, tilting your head slightly up to his to give him even more access to better explore your mouth with his. Your mind became hopelessly lost in the thick, clouded haze—every single damn thing about the way Joel was kissing you, the way he was touching you and holding you, it was all so greedy and you allowed it without any kind of protest. His hands fell down to the hem of your white camisole and his mouth left yours, abandoning it so he could pull the thin shirt over your arms. He discarded it, tossing it over his shoulder somewhere behind him. He then pushed your shorts down your legs along with your cotton underwear, and you quickly kicked them off. You’d probably regret it when you had to search for your clothes later on, but right at this moment, you just couldn’t care less about anything but Joel.

Desperate to feel some skin too, you reached your hands down and grabbed the hem of his shirt. You pulled it over his head and discarded it, your eager hands meeting his warm chest. You bit down onto your bottom lip as your trembling fingers raked all over his upper body; even though you couldn’t see them, your fingertips brushed over several bumps, rough, raised patches of skin that you knew had to be scars. He had so many, and all you wanted was to kiss each and every single one of them but Joel had other ideas. He pulled you into his arms, flush against his chest and just held you tightly.

There had been numerous instances during which Joel would feel as if you weren’t even fucking real; sometimes he’d wonder if you were just a perfect, flawless figment of his own imagination. He didn’t know whether or not you had caught onto what he had been doing, but he’d often steal moments like these, little moments where he would stand there, take you into his arms, and hold you tightly. It was his own strange way of reminding himself that not only were you real, but you were real and you were his. Joel couldn’t give any less of a fuck about that ring on your finger, not even if he’d tried. He didn’t care that he could only hold you in secret, that he couldn’t take your hand while walking next to you down the streets of Jackson in broad daylight. He didn’t share a roof or a bed with you, and he didn’t join you for dinner at the table every night—maybe it wasn’t how he preferred for things to be, but he just didn’t care. It didn’t fucking matter.

Nothing mattered except for one thing.

Your heart belonged to him.

You were his. You were all fucking his, and only his in all the ways that truly mattered.

And he was yours.

Joel choked out a strained groan when he felt you press your lips softly against his neck, your tongue swiping across his pulse point. You suckled lightly, eliciting another noise from him before you began trailing your lips downwards. You brought them to his collarbone, then moved them down the length of his chest; you’d slowly started lowering yourself down to your knees as you continued on down his stomach, being sure to give extra affection to any and all of his scars that you ran into along the way.

Your fingers skimmed the waist band of his jeans.

Joel tried to stop you. “Baby, you don’t gotta—you don’t need to do that for me—”

“I already told you that I want to,” You assured him in just about the sexiest voice he’d ever heard. You made yourself comfortable, a challenging feat due to the fact that you’d overshot the flannel blanket and were now kneeling on the itchy, dried grass. It didn’t matter though—you could deal with a bit of discomfort. You placed a hand on his hip, peering up at him; your eyes meet his in a beam of shining milky white light. “You made me feel good. Please just let me do the same for you?”

The nod he gave you had been so subtle, so quick, that you’d almost missed it.

He’d grown tense under your touch, and you tried, but failed, to hold back a small laugh.

You patted his hip.

“Baby, relax,” You encouraged him, feeling kind of surprised at how the pet name had rolled right off of your tongue with such a natural ease.

Your hands reached for the button of his jeans and you swiftly undid it, along with his zipper. You then started pulling the blue denim down his legs; Joel helped you, kicking off his worn out, black leather boots before stepping out of his jeans, kicking the article of clothing to join yours somewhere behind him. You slid his dark boxer briefs down his legs in something of an eager fashion, but stopped short, your breath catching in the back of your throat the second you laid your eyes on him for the first time; he was already incredibly hard for you. You felt the warm arousal pooling between your thighs at just the mere thought of his thick length filling you up, stretching you completely.

You’d read your fair share of ridiculously shitty and borderline pornographic Harlequin romances—it’d always been such a riot for you when it came time for the hero of the novel to fuck his little damsel in distress. It never failed to make you laugh how she would voice her concern about him not fitting her because he looked to be too big. You would pretty much lose your mind over the absurdity, and now, here you were on your knees in front of Joel Miller wondering if he was going to fit inside of you.

Joel drew in a sharp inhale of air as soon as he felt your small hand wrap around his base. Just as fast as he had breathed it in, it was knocked right back out of him when your other hand joined in; you ran your fingers right along a thick, prominent vein on the underside of his length, causing him to twitch in your hands.

You’d hardly touched him yet, and already you had him standing right there on the edge.

“Christ, you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, I hope you know that,” Joel told you, tilting his back to look up at the rafters as he willed himself not to explode there on the spot. His hips jerked when he felt your lips wrap around his tip. Another loud but strangled groan tore from the back of his throat as you took him inch by inch, further into your warm, wet mouth. Your own moaning around him caused the most incredible vibrating sensation, making it even more difficult for Joel to keep his composure and keep from spilling into your mouth already.

“Fuck Peach,” he cursed out, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat. He was more than a mouthful for you, but you certainly seemed to be accepting the challenge with eagerness.

You, the same woman who’d said she was nervous about being intimate with him—hell, whoever that woman had been, she was long fucking gone.

Joel glanced down, his teeth sinking hard into his lower lip. He could see your silhouette as you went at it, working him with your pretty little mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut when the intense pressure began building up in his lower abdomen. If Joel so much as even looked at you again, he would come down your throat—and that’s not exactly where he planned on finishing tonight.

You bobbed your head, moving it back and forth, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him greedily; you alternated between that and stroking his long, thick shaft, your tongue swirling around his tip.

Without looking, Joel reached down with his hand and cradled the back of your head in his palm. The sounds that were filling up the barn were nothing short of obscene—his grunts and groans mixed in together with the sounds of the moans that you’d release in between hungry, sloppy slurping noises. He forced his eyes open and took another glimpse at you, his heart slamming against his sternum as you moved your head even faster. He wasn’t going to be able to hang on for much longer at this rate.

“Fuck, baby. Wait, I need you to stop.” Joel’s hand left the back of your head and he cupped your jaw, gently forcing you to release him from your mouth with a little popping sound. “I ain’t gonna last, not if you keep on like that.”

“Isn’t that the whole point?” You asked, unable to help yourself from shooting a tiny smirk up at him as you wiped the mixture of his precome and your saliva away from your chin with your forearm.

Joel reached down for you and effortlessly yanked you up to your feet, his hand diving down between your thighs to get a feel and see whether you were ready to take him or not; Christ, he fucking hoped that you were, because he needed you. He slipped two fingers between your soaked folds without so much as a warning, causing you to gasp out. Joel then withdrew them, almost admiring the way his digits were coated with your slick. His eyes locked firmly with yours as he lifted his hand to his mouth and licked his fingers completely clean.

“Joel,” You choked out his name, unable to believe how that alone had just about caused you to come undone and fall apart into a whimpering mess.

He stepped towards you, his fingers lightly curling around your wrist. “What is it, Peach?”

“I want you,” You said. You then corrected yourself when you realized, “I need you. I fucking need you. I need you more than the air I fucking breathe.”

Joel leaned down, skimming the tip of his nose on your cheek before bringing it down along your jaw. “Where, darlin’?” he whispered huskily, sending an insurmountable number of shivers up your spine.

Your mouth fell open slightly, unable to say it. You had no idea why you’d suddenly become flustered as if you hadn’t just been down on your knees for him doing something so incredibly lewd.

“Tell me, baby,” he coaxed you gently with another low whisper. “Tell me where you need me.”

“Inside of me,” You finally replied, feeling the heat flood your face. “I need you inside of me. Please.”

“And so polite ‘bout it too. What a good girl.”

Although he’d said it in more of a teasing manner, his praise just about made you collapse.

Joel wrapped an arm around your back and gently lowered you down onto the soft blanket before he followed in suit. You both let out breathy laughs at the way your naked bodies sunk down into the pile of hay. Joel propped himself up on one of his arms and looked down at you, his smile fading a bit as a more serious expression crossed his features. He reached up, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“You sure ‘bout this, Peach? Ain’t too late to stop.”

“I’ve never been so sure about anything, Joel. Not once in my entire fucking life have I ever been sure about anything the way I’m sure about this. Swear on my life.” You smiled and lifted your hand to his jawline, your fingers grazing his graying beard. “If you could take a peek into my mind, you could see how bad I want this—how bad I need you, Joel.”

That was all he’d needed to hear from you.

Joel reached down between your bodies, gripping his base and fisting his hard length before lining it up against your entrance. You were throbbing, and every single last nerve ending in your body was on fucking fire; you opened your legs wider for him in hopes that he’d understand the nonverbal cue. He began to ease himself into you, and you hooked a leg around Joel’s waist, encouraging him to go on and go deeper. The barn had filled with the sound of his grunt and your loud cry at the initial stretch; he sank in further and further, and the moment he bottomed out inside of you, you cried out again at the burning sensation between your thighs.

“Need you to relax a little, sweetheart,” he told you gently, ceasing his moments to give your body the chance to adjust to him and his size. Joel decided to take some advantage of having you underneath him with your head thrown back, and his lips went to your neck, hungrily. He fervently kissed his way down to your collarbone, nipping at your flesh, but he did so gently, being careful not to leave a mark behind. He would give just about anything to have the freedom to leave evidence of his loving all over you. Maybe it was the heat of the moment and the way he was buried inside of you that was bringing out the primal in him, but Joel would fucking love to have you walk around the community with your neck covered in his love bites, signaling to anyone who had their eye on you that you were all his and those marks had come from his kisses. Joel lifted his head from the crook of your neck and nibbled at your chin lightly before finally asking you, “You alright, baby?”

You forced your eyes open and brought yourself to move your head back into a normal position. You’d been in discomfort, but as the seconds continued to tick on by and your body relaxed around him, it subsided and the pain was replaced with this fiery and burning desire to feel more of him. You looked up at Joel, the pretty glow coming from outside of the barn illuminating his face and causing a gleam in his dark brown eyes. “I’m better than alright. I’m perfect,” You assured him, already addicted to the way it felt to have him cradled right between your thighs. You placed a hand delicately on his chest; his heart thumped hard against your fingertips.

Joel brushed a light kiss onto the tip of you nose. He slid out slightly and then right back into you in an experimental thrust, causing you to arch up off the blanket. It was such a deliciously tight fit, and he almost couldn’t even believe how fucking good it felt to be sheathed in your taut, blazing heat. He dropped his head, taking one of your breasts into his mouth, his tongue swirling around a hardened nipple as he tested the waters with another thrust.

“Joel—I need you to move,” You gasped. You slid a hand down his chest and over his stomach, letting your fingernails rake lightly over his flushed skin. It was warm to the touch, covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. “Joel, please. Move.”

Your wish was his fucking command.

Joel released your breast from his mouth with the hottest, most lewd sounding pop you’d ever heard in your whole life. He slid himself all the way out of your dripping center, slamming back into you with such a powerful force that he found himself lifting a hand, placing it on the crown of your head so he could keep you in place under him on the blanket. You wrapped your other leg around him, locking it with the other, lifting your hips upwards just as he rolled his own right into them. The new angle gave Joel the opportunity to fuck you even deeper than before and he’d started hitting the spot inside you that had you seeing stars. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding onto him as if you’d been holding onto dear life itself. Moans you had never heard come out of your own mouth before rang in your ears and his, causing him to pick up his pace.

“Baby—” he breathed out.

“Don’t stop, Joel. God, please don’t fucking stop,” You pleaded him, your fingers burying themselves into the curls at the nape of his neck. “Keep going, just like that, baby—fuck, you feel so good—”

You bit down on your bottom lip, adoring how Joel would squeeze his dark eyes shut tightly each and every single time he would hit that one particularly deep spot inside of your center. Knowing that you and your body had this kind of an effect on him, it gave you a boost of confidence. You had spent the last couple of years allowing a pathetic excuse of a man pick at you and your body, making you feel as if your inability to conceive a child somehow made you defective, worthless even. And here was a real man, one who made you feel so beautiful with the way he kissed you and touched you—even the way Joel reacted to you while he fucked you made you feel like you were the most gorgeous woman ever to walk the goddamn planet. He didn’t give a fuck that you weren’t the perfect woman; Joel treated you like you were perfect anyway.

The barn filled with a combination of moaning and panting, along with the sounds of slick skin hitting skin.

Joel glanced down at you, shaking his head as he warned you, “I ain’t gonna last much longer, baby, I’m so goddamn close.”

A very unexpected wave of newfound courage had washed over you and you planted a hand firmly on Joel’s chest. You took him by complete surprise, a small grunt escaping him as you pushed him back and slid out from underneath his body. You let out a small giggle, amused by the shocked expression that crossed his face as you pushed him back with both of your hands until he was laying down on his back on the blanket. You kept your gaze locked on his and straddled his lap; you reached one of your hands down, gripping the base of his hard length and slowly sank down onto him.

Joel’s lips parted and for a moment, he worried he would actually lose what little sanity he had left. It had to be the most stunning sight he’d ever seen.

You, completely naked and on top of him, your lips pouty and swollen from his earlier kisses. Your soft and supple skin was glowing in the moonlight that was coming in through a larger open window right behind you. Your eyes glimmered, the sexiest little smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth.

All of this while every inch of Joel had been buried inside of you. It left him fucking speechless.

You grabbed his two hands in yours, guiding them over to your hips. Joel’s fingers dug into the pillow soft flesh, holding on as you started rocking back and forth. You threw your head back, hair spilling over your shoulder; the friction of your clit against his pelvis took your pleasure to another level.

Joel had thought that he’d be the one who would go over the edge first, but he’d been wrong.

You felt the tension that had been building itself in your core coil back tightly, ready to snap forward.

“Fuck Joel, I’m going to—”

“Come for me baby,” Joel encouraged you, fingers digging even harder into your hips. He noticed the way you tossed your head back as you neared that sweet release you were chasing. Chuckling lightly, he allowed one his hands to abandon your side; he reached up, gently taking your jaw in his palm. He tilted your face down towards him. “I want you to look at me, Peach,” he instructed you, slipping his thumb between your lips. “Let me see that pretty face of yours when you come, darlin’.”

His words alone had done it. You cried out, feeling yourself unravel all over him as you came.

It didn’t take Joel that much longer to follow. He let out a loud, guttural moan, choking out a string of profanities before finally spilling into you. Your velvet walls squeezed him tightly, draining him of everything he had in him.

You collapsed onto him in a whimpering mess and his arms found their way around your back. You let yourselves lay there, still connected to each other, both of you trying to catch your breath as the high slowly but surely started to wear off.

Joel shifted your bodies, moving you so you were now at his side. He tucked you against him and an arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you closer. His other hand found one of your own and he took it, bringing them both to rest on his chest.

“You alright?” he asked you, lacing his fingers with yours.

“I’m just great,” You answered him tiredly, causing him to chuckle. “What about you?”

Joel’s other hand began stroking your hair. “Never been better.”

You groaned. “Joel, don’t that,” You mumbled into his shoulder. “You’re going to put me to sleep.”

He laughed again. “We’ve still got a bit more time, you know. If you’re tired, you can take a quick nap. I can wake you up in ‘bout an hour.”

“No, that’s alright,” You declined the offer, worried he would accidentally fall asleep too. “I really wish we could fall asleep together. In an actual bed. Not having to worry about anything. Just how normal couples do.”

“We ain’t exactly a normal couple, darlin’.”

“No, we’re definitely not.”You murmured, not even realizing how sad you’d sounded until you felt Joel give your shoulders a comforting squeeze.

Neither of you had said anything else about about it as you spent the next hour laying there, tangled up in each others embrace until it sunrise arrived and it was time to go your separate ways.

;series taglist

@poppyrose33 @cosm1c-babe @mylostloversbookmarks @egcdeath @salome-c @nadixq @remusbunnies @tpwkweasley7 @s-trawberryv-eins @magikevalynn @impala1967666 @d4rno @uramericanwhore @partyofone3413 @albiebright @ninaminaromina @wannab-urs @crossjupiter @valleydollbby @sanscas @sflame15-blog @emotionallymarriedtopedropascal @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @levylovegood @daddy-din @kawaiikibi @its-hyperfixation @hoesbloated @lizlil @moonlightdivine @imatrashcansorry @randomhoex @stevengmybeloved @superflymaterial @crisstar22 @demoiseller @kyga01 @witheringawayagain @ale0m @marysucks-blog @pofties @hummelmi @elladoe @likeanimagepassingby2 @jackierose902109 @ayehomo @love-the-abyss @gracie7209 @bookofbee @beardsanddetectives @misspascaliverse @ellie-williams-wife @littlelou22

*will continue in a reblog!

[ryeonah]

tag dump ii

[hlysins]

tag dump: characters part three

[drdemonprince]

potentially triggering but ultimately harm reductionist statement about how people treat those with suicide ideation below, just a warning!

it's pretty fuckin rich that people tell suicidal people that they're "being selfish" by wanting to die, because it could not be more selfish to expect someone to just continue suffering through a life they do not want simply because their death would make them sad.

the people who say that kind of thing never want to offer any genuine help to the suicidal person that will change their life circumstances in a lasting way. they never want to house them, get them medical care, pay off their debts, introduce them to new friends, nurse them through a years-long trauma recovery process, get them a pet, drive them to a support group every week, buy them their groceries, clean their house, listen to them talk about their tough feelings for the millionth time.

lasting healing within a dramatically different and better life is never what they want for the suicidal person. they just want the person to not do anything that would make them sad. and not look too sad when they are around them, either, because even if they do white-knuckle their way through a painful existence, they are expected to also make it look easy.

but it's funny, isn't it, that by pushing away all thoughts of sadness, all thoughts of suicide, the person who says such a dismissive thing to the suicidal person is revealing how much they are on the brink of despair themselves. if, when faced with a suicidal person, your number one goal is to prevent their suicide for the sake of your own emotions rather than to improve circumstances for the suicidal person themselves, well, your own emotional grip on reality must be quite tenuous indeed. if you think the most important emotionally reality about a suicide is how it impacts you and not the person that has done it, well, you really must think that it's normal to expect other people to just constantly silently suffer for one another.

there's almost a bit of sick envy that i sometimes hear when people claim that they suicidal are "selfish." the statement almost seems to betray that everybody thinks of suicide at one point or another, that everyone has been in enough pain before that they've wished for it to end, but that since they have endured, they expect everyone else to endure the same for them, so that they don't slip into despair again as well.

it's so offensive because it is such a deeply missed opportunity. instead of batting away the statements of a suicidal person as if they were the greatest, most evil taboo, a person could really sit with them in their despair and say hey, I have felt that way too.

If only we lived in a world where acknowledgement of suicide ideation was not so taboo. Even psychologists and psychiatrists treat it as this untouchable thing, they freak out and jump into action and rob you of your body autonomy if you are willing to voice that you have thought of it. but virtually everyone has thought of it at one point or another, and some live with thoughts of it all the time forever but still have basically decent lives that they experience as worthwhile.

the legal apparatus that exists to prevent suicides at all costs have made it too risky for any kind of healthcare professional to allow the frank acknowledgement of suicide ideation to happen. hell, even the protections that have evolved online to supposedly "protect" suicidal people by filtering out content about suicide and redirecting those browsing for information about it to suicide prevention resourcse has, counterproductively, served to make the state of suicidality even more unspeakable. it cannot be spoken about, cannot be posted about, cannot be acknowledged, is not permitted, is never allowed to just be.

and that harms suicidal people so much.

we are so deeply selfish and cowardly in how we approach suicide and suicidal people.

[oksana-moods]

All Too Well

Summary: Natasha tried to mend what's left broken. Because no matter what, she's the love of your life and she knows all too well.

A/N: It's been forever. This 5k piece felt like I was writing 300k, it was difficult, funny, hard and I miss doing this more often. I hope you guys like it and please, it be amazing for me to know your thoughts about it.

You can read it as One Too Many part 2 or as a single piece, it is up to you.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, torture, mentions of death, alcohol, angst (you know how I am, I can't simply write people kissing without suffering before).

"Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place"

The gun pointing at your face barely meters away should be intimidating, but at this point no one would blame you for not caring anymore. And you didn’t even mean the last couple of days, no, your whole life had been a fight, a struggle, an act of survival after another, so the last few days were nothing but the same blur.

The gunpower inundated your nostrils and the pungent smell masqueraded the smell of blood that clung to your brain and you were sure you wouldn’t erase it even if you got out of your current establishment.

Your heightened senses were capable of decerning all the different blood samples available in your cell: yours and from other occupants that came before you, or the blood that belonged to some of your kidnappers, who’ve learned in the worst possible way that you were not to be underestimated.

Back to the gun, the man behind it kept enchanting the same questions and you wondered how long it would take for them to get tired of your silence or mock replies. A sharp pain in the back of your head made you look up to meet his eyes, another man behind you was forcefully pulling your hair down to force your head up and you were already tired of him doing this.

“Where are the others?” The man with the gun asked, patience waning thin. Good to know you were on the same page. “Where is Romanoff?”

A blooded grin made its way to your face after you spat on his shoe. “It’s funny you think I’ll tell you now after all you’ve put me through. Do you think I’m afraid of your bullet?” And you didn’t even mean the fact that you probably wouldn’t die if he decided to shoot anywhere else other than your head, but you did mean that you were not afraid of dying.

Actually, you were so tired that perhaps laying down cold wouldn’t be unwelcomed. There wouldn’t be any pain, your body wouldn’t try to heal only to get hurt again. You thought it would be refreshing.

Two steps and the man pressed the gun over your knee, and you already knew, his wicked grin grew wider when your body convulsed with pain even though you concealed your scream in muffled grunts by biting your lips so tide you tasted your own blood, again.

“Why don’t you make it easier for you? You tell me what I’ve asked, and I kill you fast.” He pulled a chair and got comfortable for he knew all too well you wouldn’t budge easy. “I promise you. One silver bullet in your temple. Fast. Easy.”

Your eyes flashed to his. Silver bullets were really affective against your healing skills and very few possessed this knowledge. Someone must’ve tipped him off and the idea stung way much more than the powder burning the flesh inside your knee.

Only two women knew your weakness. Well, your creators knew, of course, but they were not in condition of speaking anymore. Unless someone from this organization was capable of going to hell to have a chat and then return to the living world with this intel.

Your love for Yelena was something so natural and it grew so fast for she was just deranged as you were: uncapable of functioning as what people labeled as normal. You were kindred souls and you felt like you were twins separated somewhere along the road and considering both of your past, who actually knew?

After long nights during long missions, you confided in her this. You were scared of losing control because sometimes the beast inside you took over and your brain couldn’t always sway the instincts. So you handed her one silver bullet in case things went south, she was adamant in returning it to you but you asked her to keep it, for insurance.

And the other person was Natasha. You never knew how she learned this but when she recruited you many, many years ago she already knew. If the pain in your leg wasn’t so overwhelming, you could’ve laughed at the memory engulfing your mind’s eye.

Her tide catsuit adorned with nothing but her black widow symbol, swaying her hips and pretending she wasn’t scared of the woman seated in front of her. You remember how her fear smelled, a stark contrast to her pose. You recall her words, her smile, her flirtatious play all to convince you to use your skills to her so called greater good.

And before leaving, she boldly closed the distance between you and placed a silver bullet in your hand. You understood the message. You weren’t stupid. Later she sworn that she was the only one, at S.H.I.E.L.D. or within Avengers, to know your weakness and you believed her.

And this belief comes back to bite you in the ass.

Because you knew full well that Yelena would die, she would kill herself even, before telling someone your secret. But Natasha? You didn’t trust her anymore. She had done it before, and you knew it all too well. If you were to be honest, after one too many treasons, you didn’t care about another.

Or so you told yourself.

“Good luck.” You rasped out after a long time inside your own head.

The man tilted his head to the side and smiled that smile that told you he already knew what you would say. You would go further and say he was eager for it. “I think in the torture manual says I should tell you that I don’t enjoy this, but I’d be lying. We actually bet how long it will take for you to drop the act and start screaming.”

You bet no one thought it would be that fast. He stumped a knife down your thigh so fast and so hard you saw stars. You could feel the silver poisoning the skin and muscle where it was nested, and it burned like nothing else would.

Unfortunately for them, the apex in you was not used to be a prey and this injury was powerful enough to make your survival instincts kick in. It happened so fast it was a haze, one minute he was laughing, the other he was on the ground - lifeless, and just as the others came, they followed their leader – well, who you thought the leader was, at least.

Funnily, your countdown was wrong, or you were not the only one putting your captors down. As the blood ran free down your leg, your strength and capability of keeping fighting diminished. When a body collided with yours, it was a miracle you were still awake.

Her red hair framed her face perfectly, skin white as snow and her green orbs looked like there was an aurora borealis looking down at you as she nested you in her lap as you felt life slipping through your fingers - veins.

“Hey, hey. Stay with me.” Her voice was strange, as if speaking was a struggle and she reeked fear, but not the same you were used to, as if she was feeling a different type of fear, it was a strange concept, but you hated it, nonetheless. If these were your last moments breathing, you wanted her true smell. The one you knew all too well.

“Please, don’t you dare die. I’ve got you.” Her muffled words found your ear, but it was hard to even comprehend anything at all when her lips felt so cold in your forehead. “Heal. Why are you not healing?”

“Silver.” It was all you could say. It was all you had to say.

She frantically started yelling at someone, perhaps the comms, but before you could close your eyes for good, you saw a red blur and he was complaining about your weight.

Her giggle filled the room as the first sun lights announced the day had just begun, you looked at her alarmed, for it was definitely something new. “Are you mocking me?” Enable to conceal a smile yourself.

“I’m not.” She denied, but her laugh told you differently. Her freckles painted her angelical face and her eyes looked like they held the sun captive. And you. And she knew, all too well. “It’s just I can’t believe you still have this scar.”

Her index finger traced said scar as she looked at you expectantly, waiting for your explanation, even though she already knew.

“I didn’t know Wanda’s necklace was made of silver, okay.” You finally replied, pulling her close to you as if her weight meant nothing, right in that moment this action felt so normal, so homely that it ached. “I thought I could take it from that heated place for her, but it burned me as I did. It was silly.”

She giggled again, though muffled by your shoulder this time, there was something new in her eyes that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “It was cute. Silly, but cute. That necklace belonged to her mother.”

“I know.” You were locked in her eyes, and she stared at you as if she was trying to reach your soul, then you felt her fingertip leaving the palm of your hand to intertwine your fingers as she let her eyes stray to look at both of your hands.

The feeling was overwhelming. You were aware of how fast your heart was beating, you could only hope she couldn’t feel or hear it, for in that moment, all you wanted was to engrave the sight of you, together, and you wish you could just have this forever. Have her forever.

“I’ve never felt this before.” Her brows were furrowed in a way that made you upset, but you wouldn’t let go of her hand for nothing in this world, even if it was to soothe the crinkles in her forehead. “I’m in love with you.”

For a moment, there was nothing that you could do but wait for your brain to register her words and meaning, for a whole minute you simply stared at her, trying to search for a catch or a joke but you found none. And she looked up at you so innocently that you found yourself believing in her.

“I thought-.” You tried, but she never let you finish your sentence.

“I know what I said.” She stopped you midsentence, but her voice was not stern, it was almost tired. “This is not what I feel anymore.” Again, her eyes found yours and the way they shone made your knees weak, luckily you were laying on her mattress.

Somehow, they conveyed so much of this feeling she had claimed she was not capable of nurturing that your stomach did somersaults. And right in that moment, you realized that perhaps silver could hurt you, but this woman was your true weakness.

Specially if she’s looking at you the way she was.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You whispered, it was terrifying saying again the three words that you were sure would make her fly away from this strange arrangement you found yourself in. Yet she didn’t.

“I know.” She confirmed after a while admiring your eyes as if she could read your mind. After deciding she was content with whatever she found, she leaned in and pecked your lips so tenderly it hurt.

Then, when she looked at you again you saw, from the small smirk growing in her lips, that she had gone back to play her prime character: the Black Widow.

“Let’s have a breakfast before the funeral, shall we?” As she got of the bad, you copied her movements going back to your own suitcase to find something comfortable as her voice broke the silence filling the room. “I never asked how you and Sharon became friends to the point you’d come to a funeral of her relative.”

The cleanliness of the room was the first thing you were aware of. In fact, you didn’t even realize you were awake, therefore alive, before the smell hit your nostrils. And with it, her scent.

The occasional up and down from her feet and bouncing leg was the only sound in the room except for the noise coming from the heart monitor over your head. She was anxious, that much was obvious even if you weren’t an enhanced being.

Mentally searching for your injuries and pain, you understood that whatever had happened with you, was all gone. Excluding the lingering pain in some specific places that you credited to silver induced wounds that would take way much more time to wear off.

However, considering the state you were in, whoever tended these wounds had operated a true miracle.

As you opened your eyes, you half expected bright lights, common to these hospital rooms to hurt your eyes, but you soon identified that the only source of light was a yellow bulb close to the door.

Natasha.

“Thanks for working the lights down.” You rasped out and stifled a giggle as she jumped from her chair by the wall and bolted to your bed side. The book previously nested between her hands now long forgotten on the floor.

The iron grip which she clutched your hand didn’t go amiss to you. “A week.” The sadness in her eyes was palpable. “A whole week blacked out.” She explained further but you didn’t need to know the details of how long you were sleeping or how many times your heart stopped at surgery.

“You scared the shit out of me.” Then it hit you, the same type of fear your nose caught when she found you in that facility, it was fear but not the one someone feels when they’re actively facing danger, but it was fear for someone else. Fear of losing someone.

Something stirred inside your heart, but it was something that you couldn’t dwell much longer, not, at least, in that moment.

“They had me, after you sent me as scout.” Your tone was flat, and her eyes widened a little at the bluntness of your accusation, though you were far from settling for little. “They knew about the silver.”

Her hold faltered, but your hand was still snuggled between hers. “What are you accusing me of?” She narrowed her eyes, but her green orbs were bright even in the poor light.

“Cynicism doesn’t suit you the way you think it does.” Before you could even pull back your hand, she completely let it go and got to her feet. “Look at my eyes and tell me that you actually didn’t let them get me, just to find their hideout.”

She had her back turned to you, acutely avoiding your gaze. “Look at me!” You demanded and she had the gall to look at you through her lashes, as if her seductive skills could help her now. You wouldn’t fall for that, and she knew it all too well.

“It wasn’t my intention for you to be captured and I never thought someone else would know about your weakness. I thought I was the only one alive to know.” She finally turned to you, eyes now darting around the floor as if it could grant her the answers she sought.

“Lena knows too.” You corrected her, but if she was surprised by your update, she never showed.

Shaking her head right to left as if to deny such possibility, she exclaimed. “She’d never do this to you.” It was funny that at least in this matter you agreed. “I think she loves you more than she loves me.” A sly smile escaped her lips and you had to restrain your heart from fluttering at the sight of it.

“I was waiting for your check-in. I went to your assigned coordinates, and I know I underestimated their numbers, but I would never let someone capture you.” Her feet dragged her back close to your bed but maintained some distance between you.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You shot back without missing a single beat, crossing your arms around your chest.

She sighed tiredly and looked down at the floor. You wouldn’t let her forget that she was the main cause for you to be locked in the Raft, well, her and your support for Steve when Ross tried to shove the Sokovian Accords down your throat, and solely because you shared his point of view.

After being controlled for most of your life by a group with shady intentions, you swore you’d never submit your loyalty and services to a third party again, even if it was a government group – specially a government group, actually, so only over your dead body you’d accept the Accords.

But when you came back to see if Natasha was fine, she had gone without thinking that you were left behind and in the care of Ross to be taken to the Raft with the others, without sparing a single thought to you.

“I’d never ever willingly put you in danger.” She said taking another step closer to you. “I have never mentioned to anyone about your secret, and I purposefully kept it out of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files.”

Her eyes kept darting from her hands to your eyes, never focusing, never staying too long. “Look, I know Yelena would never speak about it, but I wouldn’t either. And I didn’t, you must believe me!”

“I must?” Your eyebrows shot up so high so fast it hurt. “Well, you made it pretty damn hard for me to believe, don’t you think, Nat?” Your tone was hard, but you were not even speaking too loud.

Somehow, Natasha thought this hurt way much more.

“C’mon all I feel for you-” She tried to counter, but you wanted to swallow the lump stuck in your throat trying to choke you, so you cut her midsentence.

“Words, Natasha.” She found herself locked within your burning eyes. “I kept you as an oath, yet you hid me like another dirty secret. And all you’ve felt you kept hidden – buried – just as who you really are.”

After years thinking about how she lured and how she hurt you, you thought that maybe spatting what your relationship really was – a hidden lust, would make you feel better, would free yourself from her hold, but it didn’t.

After all, calling her unfair wouldn’t change how lonely she made you feel, how she took your happiness away whenever she drew herself back to her main character as she left you daydreaming about imaginary scenarios built in “what ifs”.

As your words found her ears, they settled heavily in her stomach. She knew she had massed up, she had hurt you many times, yet all she wanted was go back in time and erase all her wrongs and all the times she promised and never delivered.

She didn’t possess a time stone, though. There was nothing she could do about the past, however, she knew she couldn’t run from her mistakes anymore. If she wanted to start anew, she’d have to show she was different.

She wanted to, no, she needed you to understand that she was a whole new person because you’ve changed her. She didn’t want to hide anymore and for that she’d have to let go of her walls and be vulnerable. Truly vulnerable.

Funnily, she had played with her vulnerability before, being vulnerable just enough for people to lower their shields or masks so she could get what she wanted but this was something else entirely.

This time she wouldn’t act. She’d be vulnerable, at your mercy hoping she’d make it out alive on the other side. It was something new and it scared her, but losing you was scarier.

“I didn’t know you came back to check on Barton…” She tried weakly, knowing that this was a sore subject for the both of you. Each with your own views and reasons.

“I helped Clint, yes, but we went back looking for you. Yet, Ross was all we’ve found.” Your glare was cold, perhaps colder than ever. In the pit of her stomach, she knew she deserved it, she just wish you could move on with it.

“I was wrong, okay. Is that what you want to hear?” She snapped, though her voice was still in a low tone, eyes sad. And you hated it. “I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for not going after you that day at the airport or at the Raft.”

Her eyes fell once more to your hands, she slowly nursed them in hers and this action was so soft, so hesitantly as if she was afraid of you taking it away; afraid of you shutting her down once more.

“I wish I could do things differently, but I can’t, and for that I’m sorry. But I- I wish we could try move on from this. I still have feelings for you.” As words flowed through her tongue, you watched as eyes portrayed a sincerity that you rarely saw within those forest green orbs.

Usually, they hid her true feelings or performed like an actress twisting her truths mixed with pieces of lies and characters she created through life until she herself was unaware of what was true or not.

“I hear you, Natasha.” You rasped out after a long moment lost inside her beautiful eyes. “You speak of things as you did before, yet you never act on it.”

Her hands were warm, a muted invitation to go back to your dreams of having a life with her. The only person who never showed any sign of fear about your nature, that never once treated you like an animal.

She never treated you like a woman either.

“I want you to show me.” Your stone-cold eyes punctuated your feelings in the matter at hand. If she wanted to have you back, she’d have to show you she’s changed for words could only take her so far.

“I will.” She vowed and smiled softly, though her heart was shattering inside her chest. She made a career making people believe in whatever she wanted, she supposed she’d be able to make you believe in her heart.

How hard would that be?

Laugh filled the room after another not-so-funny Tony’s jokes and your head throbbed as the sound echoed inside your skull. Parties like these were always a torture for you, after all, your enhanced abilities of hearing and catching smells better than a normal person proved to be really awful in a place full of people with different perfumes, scents, chattering and loud music.

However, Tony himself forbid you from leaving tonight for this was his engagement party and it would be rude to Pepper if you left too early. Deciding that indulging him was easier than arguing with him, you found a safe corner and pretended to enjoy whatever was going on.

Though, your sharp eyes, even though you tried hard, always wandered after a certain redhead and you could all but clench your jaw every time you judged someone got too closer for your comfort.

Jealousy clawed its way through your throat and even the best bourbon from the bar couldn’t help it. You knew you had no right, no claim, especially after your last conversation. Still, your heart acted on its own and made sure you’d regret your words and resolve.

Considering that you were one drink from scooping lower than ever for her, you abandoned your glass on a random table and vanished to the balcony in hopes the fresh air could help your head and brain.

The cars down the streets ran from side to side completely unaware of your inner turmoil as you pathetically looked down searching for answers you wouldn’t find there.

In fact, as your answers arrived at the balcony, you realized that her hills clicking the marble floor announced her before her perfume invaded your nostrils in waves as she moved closer and closer towards you.

“Tired of mingling?” She asked as she lined her body at the railing. Her red hair bobbed around her ears in meticulously designed waves and her dark maroon dress hugged her curves in all the nice places.

She was flawless.

As always.

“I think I might’ve break Sam with incredible five words.” You gave her a sly smile that she retributed with a smirk and a fake gasp.

“This is basically a whole speech.” She clicked her tongue playfully. “I think you’ve been around Tony just too much.”

You snorted a laugh and she let a broad smile paint her lips, content with herself for making you ease the pained expression adorning your face the whole evening.

Uncertenty hugged you like a cold blanket as you pondered your next words. As if rolling the dices in a game you were sure you’d end up losing, you turned to her and spoke. “You’re really beautiful tonight, Nat.”

Your heart fluttered as she fought back a smile trying to win her lips and looked down as if she wasn’t expecting your praise. She genuinely looked flustered by your words.

“Thank you. You’re quite handsome yourself. Well, I already praised your choice of suit, earlier.” She turned her body so now she was fully looking at you and you tried to remember how to properly breath. However, it was as if the air was composed of her scent.

You were intoxicated.

“What do you mean?” You asked confused. “This is the first time we speak tonight.” You clarify. Truth be told you’ve been keeping a fair distance from her and funnily enough she didn’t make the effort to push you and your comfort space.

She did make it obvious that she was trying, though. She invited you out in front of people, she brought you coffee whenever you were reading in the garden in the morning or brought you a blanket when you were on the couch watching movies with Wanda.

Whenever you were called to a meeting, she worked the lights so it wouldn’t hurt your eyes that much. And, one day, she brought you the files they recovered from Hydra from the mission you were taken, and you both learned that one of your creators left behind a journal and there were a lot of dirty secrets down there. Including yours.

To be honest, she was really trying to show her true intentions, but you were still afraid that this was just for show, just a ploy for you to lower your guard and be disappointed after she return to her normal pattern of misleading.

However, the way she stood basking in the moon light looking at you like she was slowly sipped through the cracks of your determination of not giving in that easy.

Her soft smile was a sight to see, and you even forgot that you were waiting for her to reply. “Directly, yes. I sent a drink to you earlier.”

Then it clicked in your head. Your laugh was loud and very uncharacteristic of you, though Natasha simply stood there admiring your carefree stance, a rare occurrence.

Your mind traveled to a moment earlier that night when the waiter approached you with a drink in hand, stating that the lady had sent it to you complimenting your fine tailored suit. At the time, the way he vaguely waved in the direction of Agatha and other ladies, you thought that one of them had been the person.

Though if you thought harder about it, Natasha was at the bar in that moment, right behind said ladies.

“Now it made sense.” You grinned back at her and nodded your head softly. “Thank you for the compliment and the drink.”

“Of course.” She flashed on last smile and turned her body to admire the city bellow and you did the same. Though you found it hard to ignore her presence by your side. You could feel the heat emanating from her skin, her sweet scent still impregnating the air around you and you could hear her fast heartbeat. It was uncommon.

In a haste, you both turned towards each other and started to speak at the same time. A nervous laugh scaped your lips as you signaled for her to go on first. And she did.

She closed her eyes as one does when bracing for the impact, as if second-guessing her next step, but when she opened her eyes again, there was no doubt and no deceit. “I love you and it’s ruining my life not having you, knowing that I am the one who pushed you away.”

You were speechless by her blunt confession, specially because she never, ever, used the word love in such a direct sentence. She expressed her feelings before, yes, but always with an adore, in love with you once or twice, never this straight.

She took your silence as hesitancy and reached for your hand, she yearned for your touch and the closeness of the last weeks made her heart clench with longing. “I am asking for a chance to show you who I really am, and I, please, I know I’ve made mistakes, but I wish to make it up to you.”

Her eyes were pools of emotion and you had trouble in breathing with her so close now. “Please, let me love you the way you deserve, the way I should’ve since the very first time I kissed your lips.” Her free hand caressed your cheek in such a tender way that you felt your knees weak.

She was definitely your true weakness.

You brain was haywire, short-circuiting with the lack of air and the sudden increase in your heartbeats. There she was. The woman you felt like you could love forever, offering you what you always wanted: her heart. For real this time. Not the hide and seek games you’ve been playing in the past.

She promised and have been showing changes, however, if you were to be honest, all she’d have to do was to come at you and say hi. If you were to be honest, she would always have your heart at her mercy.

Unable to form words and knowing that your silence was unnerving for her, as you saw her brows furrowing, you decided to answer her differently as you brought your hand to her own cheek and guided her lips to meet yours.

Her lips were soft as they used to be, and you could feel her body melting into the kiss. Her eyes fluttered open when you broke the kiss and smiled softly at her. “I love you too, Nat.”

Smiling back at you, Natasha circled her arms behind your neck to pull you down for another kiss, and another. And another.

And you knew, all too well, that she wouldn’t stop soon.

taglist: @username23345; @afuckingshituniverse; @strangegardentaco; @waltermis (I know you didn't specifically asked to be tagged, but I am doing it, nonetheless, because if your rb - and because you sparked a fire in this. Thank you.)

[deathbxnny]

Oh yeah, raising literal childish soldiers canNOT be good for one's conscious 🥲

But, I'm glad you're eager for more of that succulent emotional hurt, though this one will be... different the previous ones. And without further adieu, let's get into it 😈

So, I've noticed how, in this series, any harm sent mother's way has always been somewhat second-handed, and psychological in nature. Physical arm has always gone to the Children of The House. So, what if for this scenario, "Mother" is the unexpected one coming to harm?

Now, I could definitely write up a scenario of "Mother" getting hurt in some drastic way, and Arle and the House Kids retaliate in grand fashion, but that would be... kinda generic, no? Rather, I'm thinking of a scenario where "Mother" is hurt by the one thing that not even The Knave herself can protect her from.

Herself.

Or more specifically, her own body. Lemme explain.

So, "Mother" is in a position that can be IMMENSELY stressful and emotionally draining, so imagine one day, it's about as normal as life in the Hearth can be, "Mother" is at work, performing or assigning chores, or maybe prepping a meal for the kids, with some their help. When suddenly, she's hit with immense chest pains, as though her rib cage is squeezing around her heart, it becomes hard to breath, hard to focus because of how dizzy she's become. That's right, Mama suffer (or very nearly suffer, that detail is up to you) a literal heart attack, give everyone in the House a good scare, if you would 🤭.

And so, after this incident "Mother" is pretty forced to "take it easy" so that she can recover (which according to some brief searches I've done, can take anywhere from a couple weeks to a few months). And, considering how "Mother" is definitely seems like she'd be something of a workaholic, someone who feels she needs to be present and contributing to be a "worthy" mother, suddenly being forced to take a break from all her usual daily tasks must make for an absolutely miserable experience for her.

So, in the meanwhile, Arle and the kids try to figure out some things to cheer her up and keep her mind occupied while she recovers.

X Anon

Heartfelt devotion. | Arlecchino x Fem!Wife!Reader

(Part one) (Part two) (Part three) (Part four)

A/N: Hello X Anon! Thank you so much for your request. I really enjoyed writing this. In fact, this turned out to be a bit of a personal piece due to me having had the experience of an immideate family member suffering a heart attack, so I put some of that into this fic, which is why I took a bit of a different approach to your idea. Either way, I hope it's to your liking X Anon!!<33

Content: Heart attacks, comas, angst, hurt/comfort, wife reader, mentions of Curcabena, reader becomes a bit delirious, trauma, sfw

Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

The will of the Tsaritsa never rested for anything.

The expectation for everyone to continue until nothing was left of them always weighed on your shoulders, but it did little to ever make itself noticeable in the ranks of the Fatui. Exhaustion? Sickness? Death? None of that was an excuse enough to stop. You were all motivated by the goal ahead, even if uncertainty of what exactly it was often lingered in your mind. It was inspiring to work hard even in the face of pure agony and hell. It's just how things were. That's just how you kept going for so long as an organization.

The Tsaritsa's gentle kindness was ultimately not enough of a reason when the cold, icy snow and wind of your home ripped at your skin hungrily for more of your soul to take.

And you especially, as the wife of a Harbinger and "Mother" of the House of Hearth, felt that deeply.

Day in, day out.

It was all the same in the house of Hearth that forever kept busy no matter the occasion. You were unofficially the head of it all. Your wife often had better things to do as a diplomat and therefore entrusted you with your family from day one. The title and duties of the "Mother" weighed on you painfully, just as expected from you. And whilst you've spent endless years attempting to repair the relationship between that title and the family, you still didn't feel like it was enough. The woman that raised you and the 4th Harbinger haunted you with every step, always looking over your shoulder with that sinister smile of hers. You could feel the scrutiny in her gaze, see the rage in her grin, hear her venomous words in that sweet, gentle voice of hers.

Arlecchino had moved on from her by taking on the title of "Father," but you remained cursed. You remained in the past where you belonged, fixing connections that died for a reason, yet you were stuck with due to your own doing. There were no regrets in your actions initially, but now, after seeing the carnage and death you had caused to your own children by sending them off to the grim reaper yourself, you realise that over time, your mind and body has become worn down dangerously. You were beginning to fall apart, yet tried to keep yourself together just enough to continue every day. Like everyone else here.

It was getting hard to move and sleep lately, however, something that should've unnerved you when it was first starting to become noticeable. But you waved it off like everything else, your mind focused on your daily tasks and responsibilities instead. With your wife abroad back in the motherland for a Harbinger meeting, you were stuck shouldering absolutely everything again, not that you ever protested or cared much. You saw it as a necessity, perhaps even an honor to work at her side and take care of such an important part of the Fatui. If only the glamor and patriotism didn't melt away every time you got a new death report regarding more of your children. Crucabena used to read them as though they were the latest fashion magazine, a content smile on her lips every time. You, on the other hand, shed endless tears, finding no enjoyment in what you've become.

How did she do it? How was she able to be so indifferent and cruel to you all without feeling a thing? What was the secret to absolut absolvation from the guilt and shame? Years later, you still find yourself asking these questions in the shadows of the night, your blurry reflection in the water of the cold bathtub mirroring her image. You wonder if you even were any different than her ultimately. You felt like you did the same things as her, just less cruel, less callous. Was your care and love for the children enough to make a difference?

"Of course not. You and I are one in the same, my dear child." You often hear her voice whisper to you in those painfully sleepless nights, and you wished Peruere was there to keep her quiet again.

Taking a deep breath, you let out a weak hum when you felt someone grab onto your shoulder with a gentle shake. "Mother?" Lyney asked carefully, brows furrowed in worry at your near catatonic state lately. You barely seemed alive at times, your blank stare staring through everyone, some of your tasks even neglected seemingly unbeknownst to you. Your movement was sluggish, slow, and clumsy. Everyone noticed this, and the worry was beginning to seep into all the children belonging to the house. This was nothing like you. And yet, you didn't seem to be aware of it. Or maybe you were ignoring it.

Either way, Lyney had enough of just watching you suffer, his gaze becoming stern when you gave him a tired look. "Have you... slept or eaten properly lately? You look ill." The answer was 'no' to both, of course. You haven't been able to eat much due to the sudden huge workload you were confronted with ever since their Father left for much longer than usual. Sleep was out of the question due to the odd pain and pressure in your chest whenever you laid down. This led to you often sitting in a chair instead in front of the fireplace in hopes of getting some sleep that way... but unfortunately, that didn't work either.

Gently shaking your head, you mustered the strength to give him a shaky smile in hopes of calming him. "I'm alright, dear, don't worry about me. It's just a little stress, nothing more." Ever so perceptive, you sighed when you saw his eyes narrow. He didn't believe you, and you certainly wouldn't believe yourself either. Something was terribly wrong, but you had no time to deal with it. You didn't want Lyney to take on any duties he didn't have to yet, even if he'll most likely be your wife's successor one day. The pressure was too much. You didn't want him to feel the way you did.

Behind him, you saw two agents enter the kitchen through the backdoor. Masks obscured their faces, but the aura they let in was grim and cold. One you were so awfully familiar with, including the documents in their hands. A red envelope peeked out, a silent sign of more carnage and death raised by your own hands. The pressure in your chest suddenly increased once more when the guilt crept back up your body and whispered those evil words of self-doubt into your ears again. "How... How many this time?" You breathed out, a hand pressed to your chest in pain. Lyney grabbed onto your arm in surprise as your body nearly keeled over. Your mind was ringing, and you couldn't even hear the response to your question anymore.

It was all too much. You couldn't take it anymore. In the forefront of your mind, the woman that raised you gave you a "proud" smile, like she always did. It sickened you, for it meant that you've done something that once again proved that your title was cursed.

"Mother!" Lyney yelled out in panic, quick to alert everyone around them to your collapsing form. This has never happened before. The Lady of the House never fell, never faltered. And yet, as you now laid there on the floor, hands pressed against your chest as you heaved painfully, unable to breathe, you realised that everything you've done in your life has led you to this point. This was karma. This was the pain you deserved. Your children's terrified faces faded away and swirled into your mother's dark, sinister gaze. She reached out to you, her gloved hand pressing against your sweating forehead and tearstruck eyes, but you didn't feel any comfort. You felt like another death report, her favorite and one she has been waiting for forever.

If this is how you died, then so be it. One thing about Curcabena was that she'll always find a place for you to sit next to her no matter what. This time, you supposed, it would be in hell for the hurt you've caused.

How fitting.

"... Is she going to ever wake up?" "Not for a while. The doctors said the coma is necessary for her recovery. The reanimation took too long and... it's on her now to awaken." Lynette took a deep breath, her voice coming out in hushed whispers in fear of being overheard by their stressed Father. When Arlecchino came back come after an emergency letter practically crashed into the meeting room through a panicked Fatui agent, she found herself in the middle of a near warzone. You kept the house together at all times. But with you being in a medically induced coma now, everything fell right onto Lyney's shoulders. The one thing you never wanted.

The Knave had yet to say a thing, her lips pressed into a thin line at all times, as she silently moved to reorganize everyone and ease the pressure off of the young man's shoulders. Not even three days of taking on everything, and he was done emotionally and physically. How did his mother do it every day? How was she able to function? How was she able to keep everything in mind, do every task with perfect precision? He had so much to still learn, and that's what your absence proved him so painfully.

But hope still remained. If you woke up soon, then things would get better. Then, no one needed to be so terrified anymore.

Freminet nervously leaned against the doorway to your room, red eyes casted downwards to his shoes in silent shame. Guilt was eating everyone in the house up, their hearts aching with the question, "Could we have done more?". Yet their father wasn't keen on answering anything, her reassurance coming in the form of stern orders and a call for strength from them all.

"I see... in that case, I'll stay and watch over her for the night. You should go rest, Lynette." The young man spoke, watching as his sister exhaled a deep breath and nodded reluctantly. No one was getting any sleep lately, but it's the thought that counted. Passing by him with a short hug they both needed, Freminet watched her disappear into the darkness of the corridor, the moonlight filtering in through the windows leading her way. Stepping into the room with a soft sigh, he closed the door behind him and approached your sleeping form. His father hadn't stepped into this room much due to how busy she was with the chaos that broke out with your absence... but when she was in here, he saw the way she'd just stare at you, the pain in those stern eyes melting the ice and leaving behind a worried, foreign gaze that was rare to see on her.

Pulling a chair to the edge of the bed, he leaned his head against your slowly rising and falling chest, his eyes fluttering close in hopes of catching the tears that threatened to fall again. He wanted you to wake up so badly. It hurt to see you in this broken, weakened state. You were so pale and looked hollow, like all the life had been taken out of you. It was a terrifying sight that he could only barely comprehend. You have never looked like this before. You were always so strong and domineering.

He just couldn't believe it.

Fingers running through his blonde hair calmly is what made him flinch back to reality, his body reeling backward in surprise, yet the hand kept him there firmly. "Calm down, child... don't be afraid. It's just me." It was your voice, yet it sounded raspy and defeated, a slight slur to it from the lack of using it. Freminet froze and stared into the white covers of your bed, his tears dampening the soft fabric. But you didn't seem to notice his plight at first. He wanted to stay still, in case this was a dream. He was afraid that a single sudden move would make you fall back into your coma, the irrational thought plaguing him painfully.

"Mother..." "... Is this... heaven, after all?" You whispered, mind returning to the woman that haunted you. Surely, this must be the bliss before the storm. You imagined that soon flames and the hands of the children you've sent to their death would reach out and drag you down with them. And yet, all you got was the blonde boy pulling himself back again and grabbing onto your hand. "N-No! You're... you're alive." He stuttered out in panic and confusion, wishing someone else would help him, someone else could be here with you and take care of you much better than he could.

But once you processed those words of his, your heart skipped a beat in panic. The emotions finally caught up to you, and the surge of emotions made you attempt to sit up. Letting out a small yelp, Freminet attempted to hold you down and comfort you, knowing how you were about the house and your duties. The doctors had warned about this happening, too. Yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer strength you demonstrated despite everything that happened. Something which could prove deadly soon, if you didn't relax immideatly.

And as though the heavens had heard his prayers, the door to the room creaked open, and in came his Father, an unreadable expression on her face at the sight of your struggling form. You were alive and somehow filled with energy, which unnerved her a little deep down. This certainly was going against your bedrest orders. "Peruere, I... I'm sorry for disappointing you- I'll get back to my duties as soon as I-" Her hand rose, and your deafening silence came with it. Taking slow steps towards you, her hand came down to rest on top of her trembling son's head. A silent absolvation from his duties for tonight.

"It's okay. You have not disappointed me in the slightest. Now rest." Her voice was stern and cold like it always was, but beneath the icy surface, you could feel the warmth and worry spread through her like a wild fire. She didn't want you to feel this way, and you could tell that the state you were in hurt her deep down. You and your family were her only weaknesses. Wanting to ease her pain, you leaned back into the soft pillows, eyes not daring to look up at her anymore. Why did you feel so ashamed? Perhaps because you should have taken care of yourself better. If you had, then maybe you wouldn't feel like a burden now. As though she was reading your mind, Arlecchino gave her son a curt nod, which he immideatly took as his sign to reluctantly leave.

Silence now overtook you both until she sighed and took a seat in the chair Freminet was in earlier. The moonlight filtering in through the open window illuminated the side of her tense face, her unique eyes near glowing. It was a peaceful moment, despite the pain that now raked through your entire body and especially chest. You closed your eyes weakly in relief when you felt her clawed hand carefully caress your sweat drenched face, your throat feeling so awfully dry as you gulped.

"I... I need to get up... I need to go back to work." "Not for a while." "... For how long then." A week maybe, you hoped. It was more than enough. It was all you allowed yourself, and even that was pushing it. Your restless mind was spinning in circles at all the tasks it still had to complete, and you felt yourself at a loss for words when she shook her head with the faintest frown. She knew you too well. You were an open book she had read many times over and couldn't get enough of. "Six weeks. Perhaps even longer after, depending on your state-..." She stopped herself when she saw your body trembling, and in the dimmest moonlight, she saw tears glinting in your eyes.

"Please don't cry. This is for your own good. I was... afraid when I heard of what happened. In fact, I'm grateful that you are alive, my songbird." Oh, how delicate her words were. Her honesty was forever going to be proof of her undying love for you. The ache is your heart lessened at the gentle warmth that spread through you from her touch, her tone lulling you into the safety you've craved ever since you fluttered your eyes open again. If only the guilt left with it. "What of our children? I must've scared them terribly. Especially my poor Fremi'..." You whispered after a moment of contemplation. Arlecchino watched your sick, tired form with kind eyes that were only reserved for you.

She figured that you'd feel this way. You were always so desperate to prove yourself to absolutely everyone. Whether it was to her, your children, or even the entire organization, you wanted to show everyone that you were better than Crucabena. Yet no matter how many years past, and no matter how much you achieved, you were never able to realise the truth. You had always been better than her from day one. The moment you rebelled and refused to take her side on the day, Arlecchino defeated her was proof of it.

"Do not fret over them. The children are strong. It is you that we need to worry about now. Just take it easy and sleep." Her words were comforting, even if short and to the point. You trusted them with your life. And yet, the feeling of being a burden just creeped up your body until you fell into a restless slumber once more.

The next few weeks were filled with nothing short of attention and borderline spoiling from all children in the house and beyond. Whether young or old, they all took care of you in the same way you cared for them. Something you could only barely handle. You felt like you should be doing that for them only, never the other way around. Yet under your wife's iron gaze, you were left with no choice but to accept your fate and stay put in bed or, on the rare occasion, in the living room near the fireplace. Lyney and his siblings especially took charge of your care, and you couldn't help but feel guilty at what you've put them through. You had attempted to apologize to the young man plenty of times for simply collapsing the way you did in front of him, but he'd always wave you off with a gentle smile. One they all attempted for you to mirror again.

The magician and Lynette would perform small shows just for you, knowing how much you enjoyed their tricks. Freminet, who was practically glued to your side, would read books with you about sea animals, whilst the other children brought you tasty pastries and food. The house was kept spotless by everyone, and you didn't have to lift a singular finger. And your wife was more affectionate with you in her own special way. Gentle kisses and careful, early morning cuddles were the norm, despite her reluctance for physical touch beforehand. You could tell through her actions that the state you were in had hit you deeper than she was most likely aware, and it didn't help the small guilt that was still left in your heart. All she had left from her old life was you. The woman she considered her wife and the mother of the house.

And by the time you've mostly recovered fully, you realised that the past wasn't haunting you anymore. Crucabena's strict hold on you had faded away, even if you knew that she was simply waiting for your arrival in hell one day. But your small revenge would leave her seething, absolutely enraged for years to come first.

In fact, it felt so good to be alive now.

[certifiablyinsanez]

Honestly, the travesty that is Edwin Payne’s life and death is so twisted and gorgeous, so bittersweet.

There is no doubt as to why Charles wanted to stay and run away with him. How could he not? Charles, who is so brave and protective, who died protecting someone undoubtedly saw the shadow that haunted his strange psychopomp.

Edwin, who is an innocent child, had his very soul hardened by unimaginable pain. Even a centuries old, magical creature who has lived countless years and seen much, admits that he cannot begin to fathom what this poor soul has been subjected to. The fault of which seems unclear and yet someone aught to pay for this unforgivable mistake.

Fiercely clever Edwin, who after a tragically short life that was loveless and brutal, who went on to suffer even more, managed to be so cunning that not only did he escape Hell, he mapped the whole thing with frightening precision. He did it alone, just as he had always been alone.

He returns to the very site of his murder, alone, in a world quite different from when he left it, to find that bullies were still out for blood, and did the job of Death so sweetly and efficiently that Charles had no need of Death herself.

Edwin who’s homosexuality can be swallowed down and controlled with the proper British stiff upper lip, so much so that he managed it for decades until a single gentle soul offered him permission to be courageous, and suddenly it was too much to bear. To much, that he couldn’t even wait until he was out of Hell to say something. In it we can feel the spirits of those who came before us that we couldn’t save or comfort. Taking a century for him to simply be told not only that it’s possible, but okay.

Edwin Payne, the very boy who Despair calls a friend, who doesn’t hold out hope for the integrity of his goodness yet is not questioned by those around him, because even the night nurse knows he is righteous and does not deserve his lot.

Edwin Payne, who I’m sure is a friend of Death, because his virtue is something that he is oblivious to that no one else is and Death is certainly not a fool.

Forever teenager Edwin, who has never felt more alive after a century of death.

[soapoet]

How do they express jealousy?

requested by anon.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

01.

Shufflemancy: Gives you hell by All-American rejects

You might not expect this person to be as vulnerable and sensitive as they are. They appear very sure of themselves, may even have quite an intimidating presence, and don't let their emotions show externally. Until they are behind closed doors with their trusted allies, that is. When it is safe for them to break, they collapse. Jealousy is a feeling they are well acquainted with, and theirs is a battle between life and death. They hold trust and loyalty in high regard, and any slight against it done on purpose is met with an instantaneous crumbling of the tower where they keep and guard their beloved. They grow suspicious and anxious, and can delude themselves in finding enemies everywhere.

They grow resentful and begin a horrid cycle festering resentment and desperation to not lose their partner. They love you, they hate you, they deserve better, they deserve to suffer. And so it goes, round and round, and the wound is one only time can heal, but the scar will mark them forever. They can forgive, but never forget. Even if disaster is avoided and things go back to normal, the betrayal will forever haunt them and any future hiccup will make them suspicious or immediately be brought back to the past, and they will succumb to the fear of abandonment once more.

Without purposeful attempts to make them jealous, they are still akin a wolf guarding their territory. They keep a watchful eye for any potential threats and hold their partner extra close or go out of their way to showcase their commitment to their partner and their partner's commitment to them, often whilst staring threats dead in the eyes as an intimidation tactic and a way to silently yell "back off". I would sincerely advise everyone to never play games with their partners, but especially this one, as they've known the pain of neglect and betrayal closely throughout their life, and have unhealed wounds all across their aching heart and the damage you could do would never again heal and the commitment would bleed out to its inevitable end without mercy.

02.

Shufflemancy: Lost on you by LP

This person has a rather straightforward relationship with jealousy. Though they do not easily fall prey to it, if caught, they tend to spiral into a desperate act of self-improvement. Convinced that their tinge of jealousy is evidence of lack in them, they raise the standards they hold for themselves to even greater heights. Tunnel vision keeps them from seeing anything clearly and they hyper focus on their attempts to measure up to the perceived bar suddenly raised out of their reach. Because to them, jealousy so easily means they are not good enough, and as somebody already at war with perfection, they do not take it lightly.

Whether their jealousy is triggered on purpose or arise naturally, they instantly find themselves at a crossroads, and must choose which way to go. The strict duality of their mind in these situations keeps them from seeing the path which lies between the two, and they only debate between proving their worth or accepting defeat, wiping their tears as they take the road which strays from the one aligned with their partner.

They can appear quite cold when they simply choose to give up, as though the river of love suddenly runs dry and they decide that it, to them, is objectively the best to cut you or them loose when the two of you are hanging off a cliff and either one of you must let go. Even if they are upset they remain calm on the surface and do what they think is right. Behind them may lie many shipwrecks they abandoned when the leak appeared much too difficult to mend.

03.

Shufflemancy: Sinner by Trevi Moran

Oh boy. They will not openly admit to jealousy, but will meticulously eradicate any threat as though they're pest control. Few things get under their skin as they are at least outwardly very secure in their own self-worth and simply dish out stupid prizes to those who dare play stupid games. For some, however, I must say that they may actually hold themselves in this high regard and play the role of somebody big and strong as a ruse because they deeply fear the fall from their throne.

They could easily flip the script or rewrite it on the spot, altering the play in their favour. When slighted they quickly make sure the whole audience gets on their side and point and laugh at whoever triggered jealousy in them, now the villain of the tale they get to tell. Depending on how delicate the situation is they may instead move in the shadows and whisper in enough ears and shake enough hands to assure the eventual downfall and demise of whoever dared challenge them and their partnership.

I won't lie, for some of you I'd advise that you err on the side of caution because this can easily become toxic. They're very protective and may worship you and keep you safe from the wolves, but some can easily slip into maddening possessiveness, which is unhealthy. Their jealousy, although kept under lock and key, shows itself in a very cold, unaffected way which can be quite jarring to witness as their eyes feel hallow and suddenly speak to you as though you're a complete stranger. The worst of them may very well have angry outbursts when pushed too far and I hope you know you deserve better than that.

04.

Shufflemancy: Fred Astaire by Ghost the jukebox

This sure is somebody you may even feel outright compelled to attempt to make jealous, because they appear so unbothered and nonchalant as though they have no care in the world. And that is the truth of the matter, because from their perspective you are either commited to them, or you're not. They trust their partner to not play with them or allow any advances from others, and if that trust is broken then c'est la vie.

For some, this apparent lack of jealousy altogether can mean that they are open to non-monogamy, whether or not they themselves are interested in opening the relationship for their own sake. As an example, they could be open to their partner seeking fulfillment of needs they cannot tend to themselves. They are a good communicator and live by and follow whichever boundaries and rules have been set in their relationship and may be open to change should their partner have any suggestions. I wouldn't really fear unfaithfulness with this person solely due to how easy-going yet frank and honest they are.

If anything, instead of jealousy this person could quite literally suggest you chat somebody up, and their inquiries about other people some would be concerned about seem genuinely curious and are without malice or suspicion. They're trusting, though some of their loved ones may call them naive and wonder when the day will come that they get hurt as they don't quite understand this person's simple views. It's reminiscent of the time Aladdin said "do you trust me?" because to this person you or they either do or don't and that's that.

05.

Shufflemancy: Style by Taylor Swift

This person seems to have very little to worry about and seem sure in their own worth. So much so, in fact, that they may use jealousy as fuel for passion. They could feel excited and amused by jealousy as though it is a challenge for them demanding they rise to the occasion and prove just how worthy they are and claim their partner as theirs time and time again so that they may never stray.

They tread cautiously the fine line between playful and damaging, pushing the envelope in search of the sweet spot that triggers just enough anger to provide some friction. One need not worry much of their true intentions as there appears to be a permanent glint in their eyes full of lighthearted mischief as they simply desire for you as their partner to show them that desire earnestly, just the same as they do for you when you too decide to play little games to see the chemical reaction which follows.

It really does take outright betrayal for them to reach damaging levels of jealousy, at which point they don't go out quietly and make sure their feelings are known. Just to be sure the two of you are simply playing, they may inquire more candidly about the people around you or openly question their intentions, as though they are so very playful and appreciate the fun and games they are also a little territorial and need it known by all that the two of you are spoken for.

06.

Shufflemancy: Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo

Easily distraught, this person sinks fast and deep to the very bottom of the depths of agony when they feel jealous. They struggle with their worth and have an intense fear of abandonment which leads them down dark paths in their mind as they begin a search of how or why they do or do not deserve love and commitment. There in the depths of their undoing they easily come to find that rock bottom has a basement, which they crawl into to hide away in the assumption that what is theirs will be taken away and if what is theirs is going at their own accord they must then be flawed and wholly unworthy after all.

Their primary means of showing their jealousy is withdrawal, as they have trouble voicing these vulnerable feelings or may simply not know the right words to use to express themselves clearly. They may even fear that expressing jealousy will only make matters worse or invite retaliation of some kind, and thus say nothing at all, which invites resentment to fester.

Jealousy mortally wounds them, and I'd never encourage anybody to play games with people to begin with, but certainly not somebody so frail and fearful. This is somebody who would step in front of bullets for their loved ones, so any chance that those same people, and especially you, their partner, would in essence be the one to pull the trigger would truly destroy them.

[aplaceinthedark]

ANYTHING > HUMAN

Summary: A friend calls on Noah to say goodbye

Word Count: 15.8k

CW: Main content warnings: Supernatural themes, Loss of parental figure/guardian, gun/weapon violence, mild mind-control, brainwashing, kidnapping, racism, Enemies to lovers to Enemies, Mind Fuckery (unreliable Narrator), attempted drowning, Bad People getting Thanos- Snapped, body disfiguration (third-degree? burns) House Fire, Character Death, Graphic Depiction of an Autopsy. Sexual content Warnings: Oral (Fem receiving), teasing, fingering, implied squirting, implied overstimulation, intentional marking (Noah likes to leave mementos), size kink if you squint, Protected PnV, Unprotected PnV, a position might be anatomically incorrect.

A/N: This is RPF, and thus contains real people, but events have been changed. Other than the Bad Omens crew, names and looks have been charged, and any likeness to actual real people is coincidental. I do not write real people's trauma in my fanfiction. If this does not sit well with you, then please press the back button and leave in peace.

Dividers by @astrumaur and @saradika-graphics

THREAT ENTITY DATABASE ENTRY

THREAT ID: P K LTE-2995-CHESHIREMORPH-PURPLE “ANYTHING > HUMAN”

AUTHORIZED RESPONSE LEVEL: 1 (Minimal Threat) 5 (Immediate Threat) N/A (Liquidated, File Archived)

DESCRIPTION: Subject was a Caucasian female approximately twenty-six (26) years of age and a Type Purple (Subtype Phase IV) Threat Entity. Subject once worked for the Universal Paranatural Alliance as a Security Level 4 PSYCHE Researcher for the Department of Ontokinetics.

LIQUIDATION PROCEDURES: Due to Concealment concerns, liquidation authorization at Response Level 5 was given on 8/14/24. Subject evaded all strike task forces for three months.

On 10/31/24, subject broke into ATT-5292-Templum-Alexandria. Director of Site Security and Strike Task Forces, Colonel Sumerian, signed off on a one man mission to eliminate the target, sending in STF Theta-777 Team Commander Agent SAMHAIN.

Subject successfully liquidated on 10/31/24 by Agent SAMHAIN.

>CONTINUE?

I dream in Hell and wake up screaming, wishing that I was someone else…

He twists and bucks against the hand that holds him under the water that devours him. He knows it isn’t really water, that it’s something much worse, but right now, that’s all it feels like. It’s something worse than the hoarfrost that coats his being. He normally enjoys the cold when he can wrap up in hoodies and blankets, but when he’s as naked as the day he was born, the cold isn’t very enjoyable. And this cold…

There’s no warmth that could banish this cold away.

The Empty, he had heard them call it. It didn’t feel empty. The… Not-Water pressed against his skin. There was no beginning, no end. Just… Not-Water. Normally he would have a better idea as to what he could describe what he was drowning in, but the cold and lack of oxygen was depriving his brain of any function other than live.

His lungs finally give up the fight and he gasps for air, but instead gets a mouthful of the Not-Water. Now he can finally think of a better descriptor for it: the Burning. Because the Burning spreads through his body like lava, slow and painful and unbearably hot, and it’s so heavy that it weighs him down, so he sinks into forever.

The Burning spreads through his veins, boiling the blood in them until it evaporates. He opens his mouth to scream in agony, but the vacuum of the realm steals the sound from his lungs. Any air he had left escapes in the bubbles that leave his mouth, and more Burning enters his lungs this time, collapsing them with a familiarity that he knows all too well.

He thrashes in the darkness, not content to die like this. He seeks out the entity that had pushed and held him under the surface so he can seek retribution; so he can grab a hold of them and either pull himself out or pull them in to suffer with him. Except there’s no hand to bite. It’s just nothingness above him; nothingness below him, nothingness around him. He’s all alone.

Only a single thought crosses his mind; Was this how she felt?

And that crystallizing clear thought finally makes him panic.

Noah opens his mouth to scream again, his body wrenching upwards hard enough that he feels like he might’ve pulled a muscle in his stomach. This time the sound travels. He opens his eyes and frantically casts his gaze around.

He’s no longer in the Empty. He’s in his home in Cooper’s Rock. And like the past several months, he’s alone.

He takes in a long, shaky breath that is thankfully free of liquid, but the air still burns as it goes down his raw throat. He collapses back onto his bed, cursing and rubbing his face. He must’ve been screaming or something like that in his sleep again.

Again. He’s had this nightmare for several months now. And it’s starting to drive him insane.

He’s startled when his phone rings, splitting the silence with its shrill tone. He kicks at the sweat-soaked sheets that are tangled and twisted around his naked legs, gives up when he only manages to get them down to his ankles. He grabs his phone and presses it to his ear.

Though he knows what the phone call has to be about when he sees the caller ID, he still snaps. “What?!” Like the caller had woken him up from a deep sleep. As if that were possible for him these days.

“There’s been a breach at the Site.”

Noah sighs at the tone of the Director Site Security’s voice. His nightmare is still haunting him when he asks, “It’s her, isn’t it?” with no preamble.

“I don’t know what manner of—”

His grip on the phone tightens as well as his free hand in the sheets. “You wouldn’t be calling me at three in the morning if it wasn’t her,” Noah snaps. He then lets out the tension that has formed in the past minute. It comes out as a huff. “Me and the team will be there in fifteen.”

“Make it ten.” The line goes dead.

Time to go to work.

Noah Sebastian does not take threats quietly. The last time he did, the man he called father was killed in the explosion that took his house. Since then, Noah jumped feet first into every Threat Engagement he was assigned to. He would not – could not – lose another loved one.

But he had never prepared to face the fact that a loved one might become one of those Threat Engagements.

The night shift had her confined to one wing of the library on Level 3 of the Site. The only reason they hadn’t completely rounded her up was due to the shield of ultraviolet light that encompassed her and a small section of the shelves. Any who attempted to breach the light was met with a harsh heat that melted through their Titan-Kevlar gloves. She wouldn’t take the shield down until they met her one demand.

And of course, her one demand was Noah.

What felt like the entire Site’s crew of Task Forces was on that level, and they all part like the sea when he passes through. He can feel their eyes on him as he’s briefed. He rolls his eyes before lighting his hand and letting it hover close to the blue-violet light. “It’s me,” he calls out. “I’m here, like you asked.”

The light flickers in acknowledgement, and he presses his hand to the shield. It goes right through. He peers behind him one last time at his partner. Nicholas nods. Noah then turns back around, putting his helmet on, and walks through the shield.

Noah unholsters his service pistol and loads it with FUSCHIA-grade bullets. Normally, he liked to have his long-range rifle, but it would be useless coming face to face with her. Just in case, he had strapped his katana to his back.

This place had always been peaceful for him, despite being in the middle of Site-6. He tries to think of a plan on how to take this Threat Entity out, but all he could think about was the irony of ending it where it all began.

Noah finally finds her pacing back and forth in front of a shelf. He holds up his pistol and flicks the safety off. The sound causes her to halt, her back facing him.

“Turn around. Slowly,” he says. The figure holds up her hands, almost as in a surrender gesture, as she slowly turns around.

“Hello, Noah.”

“Hey, Mab,” he says, exhaling her name.

He catches a flash of light in her eyes, but before she could open her mouth, he fires a warning shot. It doesn’t even graze her shoulder, but she doesn’t react. She didn’t even attempt to stop it, either by catching it mid-air or stopping it dead in its tracks. She probably doesn’t even think he has it in him to kill her.

She was wrong.

“It’s been a while,” Mab says softly.

Noah gives her a quick glance over. She’s wearing the black tactical dress uniform he last saw her in; a uniform similar to what he was currently wearing. The knee-high boots, fitted pants, and tac vest over a long-sleeve turtleneck doesn’t hide that she seems to be thinner than last time. Her bright red hair pulled into a bun does nothing but accent the shadows under her eyes. She doesn’t look nearly as bad as how she looked back when they first met, but it was close.

If he could take a gamble on what she was going through, it was that she was as tired as he was. Not physically tired; Type Purples never got tired like that. She had to be mentally exhausted; tired of playing the game.

Maybe Noah could be the one to end it for her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his pistol never lowering.

“I wanted to see you,” she says.

Internally, he rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just come over to the house if that’s all you wanted. You know, say hello to your old teammates? I’m pretty sure the cats miss you, too.”

He’s certain that the reason she hasn’t tried to show her face near their place, or Cooper’s Rock for that matter, was because of the uncertainty whether they might turn her in or not. And she has to know that he would do it in a heartbeat for what she did.

She makes a sound that confirms his theory. “Fine. Since you have me so well figured out, I came here to steal—”

“So what? You just decided to rejoin your old friends after what they did to you? Or are you starting a new cult since you killed the old one?” he asks bitterly.

Mab looks at him with outrage clearly written across her face. “I’m not stealing a book on behalf of that horrendous Serpent,” she hisses.

“Yeah, right. You really think the UPA would keep the Book of the Black in here? In an unrestricted section?’ Noah asks. Mab looks at him, shocked. “Oh, I know that’s what you would be looking for. It probably has Admin-level clearance after everything that went down.”

“Samhain, what’s your status?”

Matt’s voice in his commset was a welcome relief. He was probably worried about the sound of the gunshot.

Noah subvocalized back, “Crystal clear. Code Wraith.”

Matt’s answer was two small light-blips in the corner of Noah’s visor, and the small camera symbol designating that his helmet camera was broadcasting video feed to the higher-ups vanished. They’d be scrambling to turn it back on, which means he had ten minutes alone with Mab with no UPA hovering over the two of them.

He lowers his gun fully. Mab’s facial expression doesn't change, even as he lifts an empty, gloved hand out to her. “Come on, Firefly. It’s time to come home.”

The nickname only temporarily takes her off guard. Her eyes flick down to his outstretched hand and then back up to his visor. “It stopped being my home a while ago. We both know that.”

“Just… please, Mab. We can work something out if you would just turn yourself—”

“Turn myself into the people who want me dead?” she asks incredulously. “You and I both know that if I walk out of here with you, I’ll end up dead. Or worse, in a containment cell at the bottom of Site-1 with that thing for the rest of my life.”

I’m just trying to make this easier on you, Noah thinks as she takes in a deep breath to calm herself. He can hear the shake of it as she exhales, which makes him realize how close they are. A small part of him wishes he could comfort her like he used to, but he squashes the feeling immediately.

“Besides, I’m here to do the opposite.”

Noah lowers his hand. “What do you mean?”

“Noah, I can’t hide in Cooper’s Rock anymore. There’s only so much of the bubble left for the Spooks to comb over. I… I can’t stay,” she says, choking on the last word. Unlike him, she could never hide her emotions. Especially with him around.

“You were hiding in Cooper’s Rock this whole time? Where?” he asks. Her lips thin, but he continues. “They’re not watching. It’s just us, okay?’ Matt will delete the local storage before anyone can see this.”

“I don’t buy that for a second. And there’s others I need to protect,” she says.

His composure finally snaps at that. “Oh, you’ll protect your new buddies, but you won’t stay and protect us? Your family?” he shouts. He should keep his voice low, but his anger gets the best of him.

“What did the UPA tell you? That I killed all those people? That I went back to the Cult of Orobos after everything they did to me?” she asks. “The UPA went after me, Noah. They saw me as too much of a threat after I got shoved into the Empty. They were the ones who killed all those people in an attempt to kill me!”

Noah steels himself in case she goes Phase IV. “The UPA didn’t do that. Don’t try to manipulate me.”

Her face falls. “Really? You’ll believe them, but not me?’

“What does the UPA need to put the blame on you? Why would they lie?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The organization that has a history of lying to cover-up anomalies might be lying to cover up this anomaly?” she points at herself.

“Seriously, Mab? What are you trying to accomplish here? You wanted to see me; here I am.” He spreads his arms wide.

Hurt flashes across her face as her eyes flick between him and the area. “I’m not really seeing you,” she states. “Can’t you just take off your helmet?”

He knows he shouldn’t give in to her demands. The helmet was the only thing standing between her and him, the only thing stopping her from killing him instantly. He’s seen her do it, go into peoples’ minds and flick their light switch off. She might still love him, but what was stopping her from saving her own skin?

But he lets her get close to him. From this short distance, he can really see how hard the past several months have treated her. Her lilac-colored eyes don’t seem as bright as they used to be. Her skin seems pallid and sunken in. She really seems to be a shadow of her former self.

Her hands reach up and unbuckle the chin strap, and she lifts up the helmet. When it’s finally off his head, she lets it drop to the ground. He hears it hit with a dull thud as well as a crack as the visor breaks. Her fingers are soft against his skin as she pulls the cloth mask down to expose his face fully.

Steady…

Mab’s eyes scan Noah’s face, as if she was slowly memorizing his features one last time. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes shine with unshed tears, and he hates how he can’t say that his aren’t the same. Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, and he can’t help the flutter of his eyelids before they close. He admits to himself that he missed her touch.

Steady…

“I’m so sorry.”

At those words, his eyes snap open. He sees her eyes flash. He can barely get out a shout before he’s blinded by a sharp stab of pain to the front of his brain, and his vision goes dark as his head fills with static.

The static leaves me in a catatonic peace. I want to finally sleep now.

She’s so thin.

That was the first thing Noah thought of when he could see all of her, which of course wasn’t a whole lot. And she’s tiny as well, probably a foot shorter than him. He couldn’t really tell all of this when she was up so high on the bookshelf.

He and Nicholas had heard a noise several minutes ago, and after losing a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors, Noah had to go check. He had almost missed her at first, until he had the sense to look up. And there she was.

“Having fun up there?” he asked.

He knew he startled her. What he didn’t expect was that he did it so well that she would slip. He rushed to catch her. He was right; she did weigh nothing in his arms.

Then she opened her eyes.

Noah had been trained to not show emotions on the field, and he was glad of that. Because she had purple eyes. He was currently holding a Type Purple Threat Entity in his arms and for some reason, he wasn’t dead.

Yet.

“Hi, princess,” he said.

His words seemed to snap her out of her stupor, and she started trying to escape. He tried to maintain a tight grip on her, but it was like trying to grab water; she seemed to be able to slip out of his grasp every time he thought he had a sound hold on her.

It wasn’t until he had wrestled her to the ground, pinning her down with his full body weight, did he get his first real look at her. Besides her frail stature, she looked like she hadn’t slept in days, nor cleaned herself in as long. Her violet eyes seemed to swim with tears.

“Lemme go!” she hissed with a hint of fear lacing her words.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna let someone who’s broken into a secure facility g—”

That’s when the strangeness happened. The room seemed to darken around them, like the edges of his vision were going black. He thought he was about to pass out until the darkness almost… consumed her. Then it just… slipped out of his hands. She materialized a few feet away from him, the light coming back to him.

Luckily, he was still wearing his helmet, otherwise the girl would’ve seen his jaw drop. They both stared at each other in shock for a few seconds; he could’ve sworn that she was just as shocked as he was. But she recovered faster than he did, and she darted off with a swish of her long, red hair.

“Hey!” Noah yelped, getting to his feet and running after her. He wasn’t fast enough though, and as quickly as she appeared in his life, she disappeared.

But it certainly wasn’t the last time he saw her.

The next time was six months later, and it pretty much started and ended the same. He was just getting off duty and was handing security over to the next shift. Clocking in these long hours was rough, but if he wanted to be a part of his own task force, he had to do them.

Just as he was ready to go to the Site barracks and take a nap, he turned the corner around a bookshelf and saw her.

He learned his lesson from last time, though. He was unaware that he was behind her, so he snuck up on her. He threw one hand over her mouth, stifling her scream in his glove, and wrapped his other arm around her waist. He hauled her up, kicking and flailing, until he stumbled to an unoccupied room.

In the dim lighting, her eyes almost seemed to glow. He panicked for a second, because he had forgotten that she was a reality-bender and that she could probably warp him out of existence. But when that same light in her eyes died out, he realized something else.

She’s wasting away.

He felt something close to remorse for her, which is a really bad thing. There’s a reason why Type Purple Threat Anomalies are nicknamed Type Violent by Special GRAVE Agents.

Never talk to the target. Never look them in the eye. Never do anything that will allow yourself to humanize them. When the time comes to make the kill, you must be direct, forceful, and without mercy. Don’t do anything that will make that harder.

Except this anomaly seems like the polar opposite. She barely looks like she could hold herself up without collapsing.

He offered her an olive branch; a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, courtesy of his roommate. And despite the fact that she’s trapped in a room with someone who could most likely kill her or hand her over to authorities that could, she takes it.

“So, do you have a name?” Noah asked.

“Mab,” she answered, mouth still full.

Just Mab. It wasn’t even her real name. She couldn’t remember her life before five years ago; only flashes of a fire. She was brought to the Grey Library to recuperate, and in exchange for saving her life, she became an indentured servant to the Cult of Orobos. Their leader’s orders were the reason she was stealing from the Site-6 library.

Noah had had his own run-ins with the Cult, none of them pleasant. He knows they’re responsible for the death of his guardian when he was only fifteen. The UPA had standing orders to shoot them on sight. So that meant he’d violated two shoot-on-sight orders.

After the small interrogation, he offered to keep her in Cooper’s Rock, to save her from essentially killing herself to keep her “masters” happy. But the Cult has their claws too deep in her. Neither of them leaves that storage closet satisfied.

“Guess no more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for you,” Noah said, turning away from Mab.

He hadn’t even taken two steps when he was hit in the back of the head with something so hard, it knocked his helmet off. He whipped around, fury spitting from between his teeth. Her eyes met his, wide from shock and fear, and she turned and darted off. He looked down at the projectile.

A fucking book.

“So that went well,” his partner, Nicholas, joked from behind him.

Not too long after that meeting, she came to him this time. Mab’s just as hungry, but this time she was covered in bruises. She collapsed in his arms, and he had no choice but to bring her back to his dorm. Luckily the only one there was Nicholas, who just rolled with the fact that Noah was hiding a member of a terrorist organization in their cramped quarters.

“It’s only for tonight,” he told Nicholas. “I’ll figure out something in the morning.”

He had no idea how he was going to figure something out by tomorrow morning.

After she woke up and took a shower, he handed her a pair of Nicholas’ shorts and a shirt Noah hardly wore anymore: a simple white tee with a picture of Jesus Christ and Satan playing basketball. It swallowed her thin frame, and if it were anyone else, he would laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. But she looked so small and fragile he let it slide.

He learned that she’s a dreamer; she loves fantasy and fairy tales. She got her name from her favorite book. When he told her that he’s half-Sidhe Tumuli, an elven offshoot of the faeries, her whole face lit up. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the only things he inherited from his long-dead mother was his tall figure, thick hair, and dark eyes.

As far as Noah was concerned, he might as well be nothing more than human.

He didn’t have to wait until morning to figure out what to do with her, because the Cult raided the Site in the middle of the night to bring her back.

He followed her screams as they dragged her back to the Grey. It’s the only thing that gave him direction, because the Grey is a maze; a seemingly infinite space filled with every book ever written, to be written, and not thought to be written. If Mab wasn’t screaming her head off, he would have gotten lost instantly.

When he found her again, she was strapped to a table, cocooned in a blanket of her shadows while everyone around her was dead. He picked her up and cradled her close, despite the darkness around her chilling him to the bone.

Noah took her back to baseline reality, back to absolute hell. He was forced to hand her over to Site authorities, and she was taken to Level 2 to Research and Containment. And he’s sad because he knows he’ll never see her again.

Except he does.

After almost five years, he’s finally the commander of his own Strike Task Force. Theta-777, otherwise known as “Bad Omens.” He still served Site-6, but the team traveled around the world so much he’s hardly ever there. But no matter how many of the other Sites he saw, he found no trace of Mab.

It’s after the team loses another PSYCHE consultant to a Threat Anomaly in China that he saw her. Just her file, but it's enough. It’s after he stalled long enough that a PSYCHE consultant was assigned to the team without his approval, and he went through their file.

There, on his computer, is her picture, along with her title: RESEARCHER MAB GREY, PSYCHE CONSULTANT OF THE DEPARTMENT OF ONTOKINETICS. They’d hidden her in Site-2B for the past two years, working as a glorified secretary in the NExUS Records. But under him, she’ll be a reality-bender working for the Department of Tactical Theology.

If he was a believer, he’d say that it was fate that brought her back to him.

Later that month, he was on his way back to the United States from the temporary Area set up in the Prefecture, wrapping up the Research and Engagement of the anomaly that got her predecessor to retire early. He headed to the team’s office, where the AMITY Ambassador of the team, Joakim, is debriefing her. He’s nearly knocked over by the sight of her.

Mab no longer looked like she was on Death’s door. She filled out the PSYCHE uniform of a black coat that’s a mix between a lab coat and trench coat, but she’s foregone the pencil skirt in favor of black slacks. She cut her thick red hair to shoulder length, but right now she had it in a high bun.

Noah went over to envelope her in a hug, but stopped when he saw her facial expression. He was reminded of the adage “if looks could kill��� because he’s certain that she could make it a reality.

He grew more and more confused as she treated the others formally, but she barely gave him the time of day. He even looked into having her reassigned at one point. A team can’t function properly if team members can’t work together. But the others insist that he let her warm up to him.

And the High Command denied his request, anyway.

Noah just needed to know why she hated him, then he could work with her. It was only after their first time alone together that he made any sort of headway.

Noah never understood why everyone in the UPA hated Type Purples. How they were portrayed in seminars seemed too… unreal. That they could rewrite reality, become gods if they wanted to, seemed too drastic. And after spending the past three months with Mab, who was afraid of the dark, he knew that people around here had nothing to be afraid of.

But when Mab had to take a trip out to Site-1 in London, and he had to accompany her – standard protocol – he learned that everyone’s hatred for Type Purples ran deeper than he thought possible.

Mab hadn’t been thrilled when she found out that he was her security detail. At Site-1, she could barely shake him off. “I don’t need a babysitter, Noah,” she said.

She actually did.

At the meeting she was summoned to London for, she was practically attacked on all sides. Noah was shocked at how Mab was treated, but she just waved off the insults and continued on. He could barely concentrate on anything that wasn’t her.

And then the universe threw another loop at him.

At the same meeting, before it had even started, several members of STF Alpha-1, the “FANTOM” Force, had filed in. They were the most prestigious task force in the UPA, meant to be bodyguards and enactors of the Administrator Council. If they were there, then an Admin was nearby.

But what threw Noah for a loop was when their team leader threw his arms around Mab. And she responded in kind. She practically lit up when she saw him. The two practically made Noah feel like a third wheel.

“Oh, Oli, this is Noah,” Mab finally introduced him.

Oliver was shocked to see him, like he had thought that Mab had made Noah up. “Look at that, you do exist.”

Noah tried pressing Mab about it after the meeting, but she had basically shut down. She only said that they met at Site-2, and nothing else. He was going to prod her more about it, but they were interrupted.

It wasn’t until they were back in the sleeping quarters they had been given for the weekend did he finally get to talk again. “You wanna talk about what happened out there?” Noah asked, closing the door behind him. He started unbuttoning his BLACK jacket; hers was already tossed over the back of a chair.

Mab opened her mouth, but then hesitated. For several moments, she seemed to contemplate what she was going to say next, until she closed her mouth and only said one word: “No.”

The simplicity of the denial nearly caused him to see red. Instead, he snorted in a way that he knew would annoy the ice queen. “Whatever you say, Princess.” The only inclination that he got under her skin was the way her jaw clenched.

Fine. Let her be that way. It irked him something fierce, even if he wouldn’t admit it – to her or to himself.

Except now he couldn’t sit still to save his life, and the room is way too small to contain the tension between them. So instead of trying to talk it out like how normal adults would, he escaped into the bathroom to take a shower.

He shed the rest of his BLACK uniform. The ink etched down the front of his upper half is stark against the backdrop of the white tile behind him when he looked in the mirror. He stared at his reflection as the water heated up, until the steam fogged up the mirror.

Once in the shower, he let the hot water hit his back to try to ease the tension that plagued him since that morning. He should be worried about Administrators being in the same Site; should be worried that he’ll make a fool out of himself in front of the wrong people. But all he was worried about was how Oliver could Make Mab smile, when he couldn’t even get her to look at him.

His mind continued to race, which didn’t help the knot in between his shoulder blades. He shut off the water before he passed out from heat stroke or whatever it was called. He toweled off and pulled on a clean pair of joggers before heading back out into the room.

Mab also must’ve changed while he was in the bathroom, but that wasn’t what made his feet come to a screeching halt. She was now wearing her hair down, while a large shirt swallowed her frame. He knew that shirt. He thought he lost it between Engagements – it wasn’t unlike him to forget something in New Mexico or Japan – but looking at it now he remembered the last time he saw it.

“Nice shirt,” Noah said before he could catch it.

Mab looked up from her book like she was surprised he was still in the room. He caught her look catch on his naked chest before she looked down at her shirt. “Uh… okay? It’s from my time at the Center, I think.”

Her response made his blood heat up. “’You think’?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, I don’t remember exactly where I got it.”

Noah didn’t believe her. There was no way Mab “Remembers Every Line From ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’” Grey forgot where she got a shirt.

His feet moved him faster than his brain could stop him, and the next thing he knew was his fingers had plucked the book from hers.

“Hey! What’re you—”

“What are you reading?” he asked, thumbing through the pages.

“None of your business! You’ll make me lose my—” she seethed, reaching out for it.

“Oooh, is it a spicy book?” he asked as he stepped backwards out of her reach. He started to take a closer look at the words on the pages. “’Even in the grey moonlight, her eyes were the deep blue of a September sky. He’d known them to be blue before, but now they were like two brilliantly lit univer—’ OW!”

He had been so caught up in humiliating her, he hadn’t noticed she had jumped off her bed and was not practically climbing him.

He held the book high above his head. “Give. It. Back!” she growled, reaching for it.

“No. Not until you tell me how you and Agent Sykes know each other,” he blurted out.

His words made her halt. She slowly slid down until her feet hit the floor. “Why? Why are you so pressed about him?” she asked. “We hung out for like a week at Site-2. That’s it.”

That is NOT it, he thought. Her eyes narrowed, and he thought he actually said it out loud. She then rolled her eyes. “Fine. We had sex one time, for the love of—”

“I knew it.” He grinned widely. Her eyes widened at the ferality of his tone. An acidic feeling churned in his gut at her confession.

Of course she hooked up with the commander of the most prestigious strike task force in all of the UPA.

Mab shoved away from him finally, her book long forgotten. “So what? It was one time,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.

“Only one time?” Noah asked, his voice coming out low. He dropped the book onto her bed, and the soft thump it made startled her, like it was a gunshot.

He watched her throat bob nervously. “Yes… one time,” she said. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“If it didn’t mean anything, why’d you do it?” he asked. He didn’t know why he was having this conversation, let alone having it this close to her. She must’ve thought so as well, because she tried to take a step back. She glanced behind her before nervously turning back to face him.

He was vaguely aware that the back of her knees were pressed against her bed. One push and she could’ve been spread out for him. His hand twitched up, almost betraying his intrusive thoughts, but he reeled himself back in.

“Noah—”

“No, we’re going to settle this now,” he said, gripping her arm. Something in his brain yelled at him that this wasn’t the way to do this, but he chose to ignore it. “Why do you hate me, after everything that happened?”

She blinked twice. “I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “Ever since you saw that I was your Commander, you’ve been anything but respectful to me. You can barely stand to be in the same room as me. After everything we’ve been through?”

Her head suddenly tilted. “What we’ve been through? We haven’t gone through anything. You might think you saved me by pulling me out of the Grey, but ever since then I’ve had to fend for myself in an organization that hates what I am,” she snapped. “You saw how they treated me at that meeting. Imagine that, but for the last five years.”

“Mab—”

“Some days I wondered if I really had escaped that Cult, because the UPA really likes to keep me on a leash as well. And at least in the Grey, the hand holding it didn’t want me dead!”

He watched a range of emotions cross her face. And then she delivered the stab to the gut. “Sometimes I wish you never rescued me! I wish you and I never met in the first place!”

Noah took a step back, whether it was from the hurt in her confession or to give her room to breathe, he couldn’t say. She swayed a little, like a reed in a sudden gust of wind, and he thought she was about to have a mental breakdown. But she straightened suddenly, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She straightened the hem of her – his – shirt. She then spun on her heel, brushing past him to grab her shoes.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I need some air,” she snapped, her voice cracking on the last word.

“Mab, it’s not safe—” he managed to say, but he was cut off by the door slamming closed.

He stood there for a moment, her words pulsing through him. He stewed in the regret and anger at himself for cornering her until she snapped. But he didn’t go after her. He stayed in the dorm, letting the guilt trickle in.

He was worried, still. He called her cell every five minutes. It wasn’t until after midnight that his phone rings, and it's her calling him. It was practically pressed to his ear before the first note ended. “Hello?”

“Noah—”

“Mab, where the fuck are you?” he asked in a rush. “I called you seven fucking times.”

He heard her sigh, and there was a few moments pause. He hated that she wasn’t in front of him, because he couldn’t hear her over the phone. Did he scare her with his questions? Is she thinking about what to say? Is she going to leave?

Is she going to leave him?

“Mab, where are you?” Noah asked again, softer this time.

There was more silence, and he had to check his phone to make sure the line was still connected. He almost missed her answer, it was so quiet. “I don’t know—”

“What do you mean—” His voice rose without him meaning to, but he reigned himself back in. “Describe your surroundings, Mab. Details.”

“Noah, it’s dark, it’s raining, and I’m sure I’ve never been in this part of the Site before,” she said.

“Come on, Mab. Use that beautiful brain of yours,” he said, pulling on a hoodie. He booted up the tracking program on his phone and inputed Mab’s code while she went into minute detail.

“Alright, I’m coming. Just for the love of fuck, don’t move.”

“Noah—”

Three quick beeps interrupted her, and her location suddenly disappeared from his screen. He swore. She probably didn’t have time to charge her phone after they got back from being in meetings all day long. She could use his EVE tracker mode, but there was no way Site-1 didn’t have a few Reality Anchors floating around somewhere. Without her phone online, she was basically invisible.

He pulled on his shoes and strapped on some easily concealable weapons, even though they’re on Site grounds. He knew there was at least one person that would love to see Mab dead, and he wouldn’t risk the chance of that guy finding her.

He grabbed another hoodie and an umbrella, and made his way outside.

He shouldn’t be surprised that London was cold at this time of the year. He definitely wasn’t surprised that it was raining. He was more surprised that the logical and overthinking Mab Grey would storm off in the middle of a rainstorm.

How bad did she want to be away from him that she was willing to walk into this deluge rather than be in the same room as him?

Noah had the entire walk to think about what he could say. But the whole time, he told himself that he was only out here looking for her because he’s supposed to be protecting her. Not because he was scared he could lose her.

Thirty minutes later, he finally spied the reality bender. Curled up on a bench, absolutely soaking wet, and looking miserable.

“Well, look at that. You can actually listen to instructions.”

Goddammit Noah, you fucking idiot.

She peered up at him with the ghost of annoyance, but he could tell she’d been crying. He started to feel bad until she opened her mouth. “Don’t get used to it,” she mumbled, barely audible over the sound of the storm.

“You gonna sit there all night or are you gonna come with me?” he asked.

She thankfully stood up, though not before letting him wait a few more moments. When she stepped into the dry space underneath the umbrella, he handed her the extra hoodie. She pulled it on, and it enveloped her. It fell below mid-thigh on her, leaving her legs bare.

As they walked back to their dorm, he noticed how she was trying hard to avoid touching him. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and he could almost feel the vibrations of her shivering form. He shook his head, wrapping an arm around her. He expected some resistance, but she melted into his side.

For a few moments, he let himself wonder what they might look like if someone were to pass them. Two lovers taking a leisurely stroll through the paths of Site-1? Or something else?

Back in their room, he expected her to say something. Instead, she quietly sat down in the chair where her BLACK coat had been thrown onto. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting ready for bed. What’s it look like, Noah?” Mab snapped. Her fingers fumbled over her shoelaces, either from being cold and stiff, or from pure frustration. It might be a combination of the two, as it looked like she just made it worse when he saw the knots that she formed.

He looked up at her face. It had scrunched up, and he could see how her eyes shone. “Mab.” His voice cut through to her.

“What?” she snapped. She didn’t look up at him.

“Would you just calm down for a second?” Noah asked.

“I’m fine, okay?” she said.

“That was a rhetorical question, Firefly,” he said, crossing the room towards her in two strides. He kneeled down in front of her and gently brushed her fingers out of the way. She tried to pull her foot out of his grasp, but he gripped her ankle firmly, keeping it in place.

“Noah, I can take care of myself,” she protested.

“I know you can, but I didn’t ask you to, did I?” He slid that shoe off and started working on untying the other.

When he was done, he looked up at her to see that her gaze was rooted firmly to the ground. “Hey. Mab, look at me.” He reached up to put a finger under her chin, and tilted her face up. Her violet eyes casted downward, still avoiding him.

“Look at me, Firefly,” he said again. He brushed her cheekbone with his thumb, which passed through a wet patch. “Firefly…”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, wiping the tears away with the sleeve of the hoodie.

Noah gently tugged her forward out of the chair and cradled her. The sound she let out as she clutched a fist in his hoodie felt like an arrow had pierced him.     

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her wet hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. If I had known where they casted you off to, I would’ve been there to guide you. And I can do that now, Mab, but you gotta let me in.” He kissed the crown of her head. “You don’t have to do everything alone.”

She didn’t say anything. He let her shower and change into dry clothes, but she continued to wear his hoodie. He thought that it was a great start, that she’d warm up to him eventually, but when he settled down to finally sleep, she wordlessly crawled under the covers of his bed.

“Night, Mab,” he said, lips curling into a small smile.

“Good night, Noah,” she replied softly, barely audible, from her side of the bed.

Normally, Mab Grey was all sharp angles: sharp mind, sharp tongue; a habit learned when you’re an anomaly that worked for an organization that liquidates anomalies like you. But behind the curtain, she was all soft. Soft skin under Noah’s hands, soft breath against his feverish skin. He was the only one who got to see this side of her, and he reveled in it.

“Noah—” She breathed into the space between their mouths, before Noah encased her lips with his own and swallowed down the rest of her words.

They were always like this. A professional relationship at the Site, their feelings towards each other only known to those of Bad Omens they could trust. When it was just the two of them, they frantically tore at each other’s clothes. There hadn’t been a visit to her place that didn’t end up with the two having sex on some surface.

Mab straddled Noah’s hips as he leaned back on his hands. He wanted to touch her; let his fingers roam over every inch of her until she was like melted wax in his grasp. It took every ounce of his meager self-control to keep his hands to himself, but it was worth it to watch Mab lose it. And it doesn’t take long. Her fingers dug into the meat above his hips, and she rocked down against his hardening cock.

His hands moved to glide up the sides of her waist. When his fingers traced the skin they left behind, he could feel the goosebumps that had formed in their wake. She was tense above him, shuddering in anticipation. He trailed his hands back down, down until he could grab two handfuls of her ass over her shorts. He then forced her core to drag down over the front of his sweatpants, and the movement sent him over the moon, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his skull.

She gasped his name at the same time, and he mentally stowed the sound for another time. He moved only one hand up to curl around her cheek and the back of her head, and he licked into her mouth in a dominant kiss that he knew she would reciprocate.

A while ago, he had read about Type Purples in order to learn more about Mab. In that information, he read about Purple’s tendencies to use their powers to manipulate others for sex and love. He had brought it up to Mab once, back when they first started working together, but after the visceral reaction he had gotten from her, he never brought it up again.

A lot of other people brought it up instead. “You’ll wake up one day and realize she’s using you, son.” Noah never got over that; how it was said to him while Mab was standing right next to him. It had taken every ounce of training to not beat their faces into a bloody pulp.

Noah’s will was his own. He protected Mab because he wanted to.

Noah and Mab continued to kiss, heavily and messily, and he felt her fingers tugging at the band of his sweatpants. He pulled her hands away and searched blindly for the hem of her shirt. He pulled it up over her head, sending her hair in every direction. He took a moment to admire the beauty of her tits in his face, before ducking his head and encasing one nipple between his lips. He swirled his tongue around it, and then sucked hard enough that her back arched. After having a little nibble, he hurriedly released it with a wet pop to do the same process to the other.

He didn’t stop until both of her tits had been worshiped enough; red from his lips and teeth, and she was a mess on his lap. She’d tugged at the short hairs at the back of his neck for some time now, and he was sure it stuck up all over the place.

Her skin tasted unholy, but all he could think of was how he had to have his mouth on her pussy in the next few seconds or he’d combust. He grabbed her hips and lifted her up off his lap. The loss of friction made her whine softly. “I know sweetheart I know,” he mumbled into her clavicle, pulling his legs out from under her. “Lie back, lemme taste you. Please.”

He let her go and she fell backwards. He couldn’t help but admire how her hair fanned out like flames licking the sheets below her. Her hands joined his as he pulled down her shorts. Even before he glanced back down, he could tell that she was wet and ready for him. He tore at her underwear with more urgency than he had with her shorts. Maybe he was under a spell, but he was sure it wasn’t her reality shaping powers.

Purple-Type Reality Bender or not, she was his goddess, and he would kneel at her altar for as long as he lived.

Noah threw her thighs over his shoulders, hooking his arms around them as he dug his fingers into her skin. He dove straight in, not even bothering to tease her with soft kisses to her inner thighs and outer lips. He barely even took a second to admire how pretty and perfect her pussy was. He wrapped his lips around the bud of her clit and sucked it in between his teeth, causing her to loudly whine above his head. He felt her fingers wind into his hair, and he moaned against her folds when she tugged at his roots.

He pulled away slightly to run the flat of his tongue up her slit, and she wore as she shuddered and grinded her pussy against his face. When he moved back up to her flit, he slowly rubbed at her entrance with a single finger, prodding it in up to the knuckle. When he crooked it up, her body bent like a bow, tensed to snap at any moment.

She swore as he circled her clit with his tongue, flicking it up and down. The hand not in his hair found its way to his bicep, and he felt a sharp pain that traveled down his body and caused his dick to twitch. His hips involuntarily sought friction by rutting against her bed.

Mab wasn’t very vocal when it came to dirty talking during sex, or talking at all. Noah had to learn her tells, but luckily they fucked so often that it didn’t take long. She wasn’t a swearer, nor a babbler. Her tells were all physical. So when he felt her thighs tense beneath his hand, and when her breathing picked up, he doubled down until her thighs caged his head and she came. Hard.

He drank it up like a man dying in Death Valley. He was a feral with his tongue, not stopping until he was sure she was about to come again. He groaned at the thought that he could suffocate between her legs, and as cliché as it sounded, he knew he’d die happy.

The vibration from his moan sent her into another climax, but he still didn’t stop until he consumed everything she gave him. Pretty soon, she was squirming from the stimulation and pulling him up by his hair. He reluctantly parted from her and rose to greet her with a grin that she would normally wipe off his face if she wasn’t so drunk off her orgasms.

“Speechless?” he asked, and she finally glared at him. “It’s a cute look for you.”

“Shut up,” she muttered. Her bare tits rose as she tried to draw in air.

While she was distracted, Noah quickly shed his sweats and boxers. He searched for a condom, fumbling with tearing the foil packaging until he gave up and tore it open with his teeth. After the rubber was rolled on, he crawled on top of Mab. Her breathing had nearly returned to normal.

He held himself up with one hand and then leaned down to kiss her. She hummed a sound as he slipped his tongue past her lips. He thought to himself that every part of her tastes amazing.

His hips rocked against hers, his cock running through the slickness between her thighs. Her breath hitches. “Not gonna last too much longer, sweetheart,” he said with a breathy groan. When he rutted against her again, she met him at the same pace. He wasn't even inside her yet and he could nearly cum right there and then.

He pulled back a bit and wrapped his fingers around her jaw as he said, “Lemme see those pretty eyes.”

They popped open as he dragged his thumb over her bottom lip. He could never get enough of her eyes. Despite the color almost being obliterated by her dilated pupils, he could still see the flecks of sky blue interspersed amongst the lavender irises, like a violet starscape. My shooting star, he had once called her on the top of the townhouse as they watched a meteor shower. She didn’t hear him at the time, but he was okay with that. It could be just his little secret.

He had no idea how accurate that name was.

Noah held her jaw in an iron grip as he slowly entered her. He reveled in the feeling of her chest rising as she gasped; the way her eyes widened more. He had to fight the urge to close his eyes as she fluttered around him, and instead his breath came out as a deep rumble from somewhere in his chest.

He didn't break eye contact until he was flush with her, their hips pressed together snugly. He rested his forehead against hers, peering down at their bodies. He nearly blocked hers out with how big he was compared to her, and the feeling of being so much larger than her ignited another fire in his belly. Instead of giving into that fire, he kissed her again, slowly this time, giving her time to adjust.

Her patience though doesn’t let him stay still for long. “Noah,” she whimpered, her fingers flexing into his ribs as if to urge him to move.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said. “Let me stay like this in you for a little bit.”

After taking a deep breath, he withdrew until he was almost out. He then hitched her legs up to where her thighs rested over his hips. He rocked back in with a sharp thrust and hit a spot in her that had her gasp aloud. The sound made him lose his composure. 

“You’re all mine,” he blurted out. “Say it.”

There was a pause after his words, and the silence nearly deafened him.  He knew he hadn't even said the L-Word yet, and here he is, claiming her as if she belonged to him. He just wanted to hear her say it, just so he knew that she was real.

“I’m yours.” Mab whispered. “I’ve always been yours.”

Noah thrusted again, and her hands sought out for something. They pulled at the sheets, the pillows under her head, finally curling under his arms and gripping his shoulders.  With every one of his thrusts, her nails sunk deeper and deeper into his back, until she tore at his skin and practically drew blood.

“You’re Mine.” He enunciated every word with a thrust that had her tits bouncing. “Mine. Mine. Mine.” 

“I'm… yours,” She gasped. “Oh, god - N-Noah-!”

“You’re so good for me,” he growled into her ear. “So fucking good around me. Fucking made for this cock, fucking made for me.” He rambled on. 

He looked down at where they connected again. The sight of her smooth, blank skin against his heavily decorated torso nearly doing him in. He grinded his teeth together so hard he could feel a muscle spasm in his cheek.  He focused on that so he wouldn’t blow his load before he cums. Except when he looked back up at her, he saw that she was looking as well, her lips forming a perfect “o”.

This had to end now or he’d end up embarrassing himself. He quickly pressed his thumb down on her clit, and luckily, with little encouragement, she came. She came with a cry that caused her to nearly lift off the bed. 

The noise, the feeling of her wrapping around himself, it was all too much for him. With a shudder and a groan, he emptied into the condom. His arms nearly gave out, but he caught himself before he fell on top of her. Catching his breath, he slipped out of her despite her protest. Fighting his body's natural habit to stay, he turned over to dispose of the condom and to grab something to clean themselves with. He wanted to do more, but the hand clinging onto his arm made collapse back onto the bed. 

She almost materialized on top of him. This kiss is nothing but soft; something to reassure him that she was thankful for him. It almost felt like a reminder that he's only human… well, half-human.

When they parted again, she laid her head on his chest, her body tucking into his side as he held her tightly to his warm, wide torso.  She whispered something into his skin, slick with sweat still cooling off, but when he made an inquiring noise that asked what it was she said, she pretended that she hadn’t said anything. He didn’t let on that he had heard her clearly. 

“You're mine, too,” she had whispered.

Noah watched as Mab fought against the cultist; she clawed against the hand around her throat, kicking her legs wildly. The cultist held her out as far as his arm would let him, but her feet still made contact with his legs. Still, he stood unphased. 

“Put her in,” the Serpent said, his black eyes cold and unyielding.

Noah tried to scream, tried to crawl his way to her to save her from whatever watery grave they were going to send her to. But his body, as torn up as it was, refused to move.  The most he could do was moan and reach his hand out for her. Despite the short distance between them, he couldn't do anything. 

He was going to watch Mab die, just like he watched Kennedy die.

“Dad! DAD!”

Noah’s eyes met Mab’s, and the fear in them almost made him throw up.

The cultist tried to let her go, tried to drop her into the pool, but her grip on him was too great. He then tried to shove her in. The minute her skin made contact with the water, she let out a shriek that sounded more like it belonged to a mortally wounded animal. She certainly fought like one; the water of the pool flew everywhere as she thrashed.

Some of that black water hit Noah’s ravaged skin. He hissed at the icy burn, certain that frost formed where it made contact. 

The cultist then held Mab’s head down under the water with his free hand. After a while, the ripples she formed lessened until they stopped completely. Noah watched, horrified, as the cultist pulled his hands out of the water. They looked like they were completely frostbitten.

The serpent turned towards the Bad Omens. “Now, we can—”

There was a flash of violet in the corner of Noah’s eyes. Before the Serpent could finish whatever he was going to say, the pool erupted like a geyser, shooting up its contents as a figure flew out of it. 

Noah could barely describe what he was seeing. It was like looking through a two-dimensional hole in three-dimensional space, but the hole was in the shape of a humanoid woman. Where eyes would be, there instead were two galaxies, swirling clouds of blue and purple, combining in a cosmic force. When he looked through her, he could see stars dotting the expanse, some spinning around each other or tumbling to some far corner of space he couldn’t see.

The being then moved her hands, and suddenly the room exploded. 

Jolly threw himself over Noah at the same time Folio ducked and rolled against an overturned table.  Noah felt a great weight settle over him, but it had nothing to do with Jolly. It was like gravity was pulling and pushing him at the same time, with equal amounts of force, cementing him to his spot. 

Fighting this gravity, Noah managed to turn his head towards the center of the chaos. He was just in time to see the guards and cultists get vaporized by the Entity’s power.  The Serpent screamed as he was sucked into a black hole; an actual hole, held by the starry figure. The hole then imploded, sending another explosion through the room. 

And as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Silence fell over the hall, leaving just his fire team and whatever just decimated the cult of Orobos. 

That’s when those violet galaxies turned onto him. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Folio lift his gun. He watched the figure glance over, and he knew he had to get in the middle. He somehow found the strength to move out from under Jolly, onto his feet, and in front of Folio before he was blinded in his right eye. He felt that raw power brush past his face, or maybe he was just feeling the skin boil and fuse with the neoprene mask. 

“NOAH! NOAH! NOAH!” 

Everything around him slowly dissolved, floating upward until it was only him and the god-shaped hole in front of him.  Fog permeated the outside of his vision, like it was creating a barrier between them and the rest of the world. Or maybe it was the figure who created it.

Noah…

He heard his name being spoken into his mind rather than out loud. “I know you’re in there,” he said, turning to face it. “You wouldn’t hurt us willingly.”

Noah. 

“Come on, Mab,” he said, holding his arms out. He slowly approached her.  “Come back to us.” 

The edges of the figure rippled at his words, like it was trying to reassemble itself into a form it might recognize. Noah didn’t stop until he was practically pressed against it, feeling the cold nothing radiating out of it. He tentatively placed his hands on its waist, and almost immediately his fingers turned purple. 

“Please, Mab,” he pleaded. “Come back to me.” 

Noah? 

Noah blinked at the sound of his name. He looked up and behind him towards the doorway, where Nicholas stood. 

“Anything?” Noah asked. Nicholas only shook his head. 

Noah looked down at his phone in his hand. The text screen was still pulled up.

Picking up some Thai and we can watch whatever you want to tonight. That OK?

Ok.

You OK Firefly?

I'm fine.

I know it's been a rough couple of days recently.

I'm OK.

Ok then… Be there in 15.

He had sent that message five minutes before he led the strike team to raid Mab’s place.

It had been a rough few days ever since they got back from the Grey. Noah had to undergo several surgeries to get himself back to normal, including surgery to repair the half of his face that had been burnt. Jolly had called him “Two Face” at one point. 

After the surgery and the anesthesia wore off, he woke up to what he thought was Hell. Jolly, Oliver, and another person had come into his recovery room to tell him what had happened. “She killed an entire strike team trying to bring her in for questioning,” Jolly had said. They weren’t there for questioning; they were there for an extermination. “She’s too dangerous to be out in the open anymore.” That doesn’t justify sending a drone to kill someone and any witnesses. 

Whatever Administrator he was (why else would someone from Alpha-1 be in the room?) debriefed Noah on what Mab had essentially become: a Phase V Reality-Bender, a myth come true. And she killed fifteen people to save her skin. The UPA Killed them!  

As he had walked through Mab’s place, he couldn’t help but notice how it had been scrubbed clean. Nothing of her had been left behind, not even a fingerprint. It was like she never lived here in the first place. When he went into her room, he knew it would be just like the rest of the place, but he still had to check. He scoured every inch to try and find something of her of them.

Nothing.

He had collapsed onto the mattress, the sheets gone. He pulled his helmet off and pulled the mask down before hanging his head in defeat. Half of his hair hung in front of his face; the other half would take months to grow back. And that’s where Nicholas had found him.

Noah’s thumbs shook as he typed out the message: Mab, we need to talk. But his blood boiled at the return message: 

THE NUMBER YOU ARE TRYING TO REACH HAS BEEN DISCONNECTED. 

He threw his phone against the wall. It fell to the ground in several pieces, broken beyond repair. Next was his helmet; it put a large dent in the wall’s plaster. When he was about to put his fist through the wall, Nicholas’ hand materialized out of nowhere and grabbed his wrist mid-swing. “You just got that hand fixed,” Nicholas said. 

The anger in Noah's veins evaporated, and he collapsed to the floor. He let out an animalistic scream to vent whatever steam he had left. Mab was gone. 

He loved her, but she was gone.  He was too late.

Noah… 

He looked up at the mess he had made. A single photo had fluttered out of the inside of his helmet, out of the tiny nook he had tucked it into. “That way you’re always on my mind,” he had told her.

“Wow. Cheesy,” she had replied. What was in that photo, Noah?

Noah turned his head towards the voice that spoke from next to him. Mab sat on the edge of the roof, kicking her legs back and forth. It almost reminded him of times from long ago when they first met. 

“I still can’t believe that Cooper’s Rock has the exact same stars as the rest of the world,” Mab said, dreamily looking up at the night sky.

“What, you expected something else?”  Noah asked.

“It’s a Nexus field! They shouldn’t be able to replicate every single star as exact as the outside world! Yet everything…” 

As Mab went on, Noah could only focus on how her face reacted to the words coming out of her mouth. How her nose would scrunch up occasionally. How her lips would pout when she frowned. 

He could absolutely kiss those lips right now.

“… at least, that’s what Dustin told me.” She sighed. She looked down at him. “Uh, Noah? You alright?” 

“Er, yeah,” Noah coughed, catching himself. “Do you make it a habit to remember everything a guy tells you?”  Mab elbowed him in the arm. “When he's talking about my field, yes.”

“I thought he was the religion guy.”

“No! That's T.J.! Honestly, do you ever pay attention to a word I say?”

He does, actually. He knows Tobias is the Religion Guy, because he’s worked with him numerous times over the past two years. But he liked to tease her if it meant she was talking to him.  Better than how they were several months ago. 

He changed the subject. “Our next engagement will take us to the other hemisphere,” he said. “I could show you a whole other sky of stars.” 

The promise took her by surprise.  Her eyes widened, and thanks to the soft glow of the streetlamps below, he caught the tinge of pink spreading across her cheeks. 

And that’s when he got the thing he wanted the most from her: a smile, pure and dazzling. “I’d like that,” she said. 

no no no it’s too much no no

He tore his gaze away from her smile to look up at the sky, and at the same time a meteorite streaked across the night. It left behind a glittering trail of purple. 

He felt warm all over, like he was blushing or something. But the heat rose, and rose, until it was unbearable. A sound from behind him made him turn his gaze away from the sky. 

Everything was on fire. 

No, no no no no no… Not this.

“Dad! DAD!”

Noah heard a scream as some of the roof caved in, and he sobbed.  His singed hands burned as he tried to wipe away his tears. He couldn’t do anything to save the man who raised him since—

Wait. Why were his hands burned? 

He heard another scream, much like the first but it was different than he remembered. He looked away from the fire and saw the flash of red as the figure from his nightmares fled the scene. 

It was like a dream where he was in his body, but not controlling it. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go! He wants to scream.

He rushed towards the figure, his mind racing at the thought of seeing its face for the first time. Even though he knew who it was, thanks to the UPA declassifying the files—

Except a different scene unfolded before him. 

The Administrator in the hospital had told him that it was Mab that had caused the fire, killing his guardian and almost taking Noah with him. It was so easy for Noah to throw that love for her away, almost like he had been brainwashed. 

As he chased the figure, he saw that she wasn’t running away, she was being carried; she was unconscious. 

“Hold on! I’ll get you out!” He shouted as the girl screamed. His hands grabbed the flaming post, the adrenaline numbing the pain and giving him the strength to lift it. He then reached her, picked her up and helped her out.

This person carrying them, he’d seen them before. He was there when Mab was tossed into the Empty. A cultist of Orobos? What were they doing here?

His hands grabbed the redhead and pulled. “Let her go!” he screamed. Despite his lack of strength, he managed to pull her free. He clutched onto her until the cultist tore her away from him. 

Mab hadn’t set the fire. 

The cultist had. 

Mab didn’t kill his guardian. 

Noah’s head exploded in pain.  He screamed as it felt like his brain was short-circuiting and melting from the confusion. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that didn’t stop him from seeing the jumble of images melding together: 

Mab wrapped in shadow.

Mab drenched in rain.

Mad covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

Mab made of nothing but night and stars.   

Mab emerged from a forest, young and naked, wide-eyed and confused as to who or what she was. 

“Who are you?” his 15-year-old self asked. 

“Ah… s-star…” She muttered, pointing behind her. Where Noah had been handing to check out the meteor. Her violet eyes glowed as she looked back at him. 

“NOW DO YOU REMEMBER?” she asked, but her voice sounded so much older.

Suddenly, he was back in the Grey, standing before the starry Entity. He was frozen to the spot as its galaxy eyes stared him down.

Noah felt tears falling down his face, suddenly unmarred. “I remember…”

The figure – Mab – cupped his face. It’s touch was bitingly cold, like the water from the pool; like the Burning Not-Water from his nightmare. The figure’s form flickered again, changing shape and form for a brief moment, like a slideshow: 

A figure wrapped in shadows. 

A figure drenched in rain. 

A figure wrapped in stars. 

A figure with pale skin, black hair, and brown eyes—

Wait.

The image of the mystery woman gave him enough clarity to wrench free from the Entity’s grasp. And with a sorrowful scream, Noah raised his service weapon and pulled the trigger.

Within the silence of this illusion, is there anything more than human?

Suddenly, everything rushes back to Noah with startling, painful clarity. The shock causes him to double over as Mab stumbles away from him. He dry heaves for a few seconds before hurriedly recuperating.

He looks up to see her shocked face. She’s holding her side where the bullet hit her. It hadn’t penetrated the uniform, he has the UPA to thank for that. But it did manage to tear her concentration away from him. 

“You fucking shot me,” she says incredulously. 

“Yeah, well, don’t try your mind shit on me,” he groans, standing up. “Or at least pay attention to the finger that’s on the trigger, just in case something like this happens again.”

She’s still incredulous and he would find the look comical if the situation were different. “After all that I just showed you, you still think I would hurt you.”

He shrugs, pulling his mask back over his nose. He can’t tell how long time has passed since she initiated that walk down memory lane.  For all he knows, the UPA is back to watching his every move.

He reaches down for his helmet, but it vanishes under his fingertips. He sighs and turns back to Mab. “Really? You do that now?” 

“Noah, listen to me,” she pleads. “I don't have much more time. I was serious when I said that I didn't kill all those operatives. I didn't kill anyone.” 

"Who's to say that you fabricated all those memories?” he says, drawing his katana. Her eyes widen as he leaps at her, but she's still able to throw up a shield so the blade bounces off harmlessly. He attacks again, and once more she blocks with the violet light at the last second. 

“Noah, please!" she pleads as he swings again and again. Her blocks are sloppy compared to her previous combat. It's almost like she's distracted, or her body can't keep up with what her mind wants. 

Eventually she comes around and blasts Noah backwards. He hits a shelf hard enough to lose grip on his katana, and he and the sword both hit the floor hard. 

As he pushes himself up, she walks up to him. He half expects a boot to connect with his face, but instead she stops a foot away from him. She crouches down into a squat, and she’s now level with him as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. Her eyes are level with his, the black piercing his—

Wait. No, her eyes are all wrong. It’s like they’re bleeding purple down her face, draining the irises of their color. 

Maybe unknowing of her condition, Mab brushes the strands of his dark brown locks away that have fallen into his face off his sweaty brow. “This can only end one way, Noah; only one way to free us from this nightmare.” 

“Then do it already,” he says, lifting up his chin in stubborn defiance. 

She sighs. “I told you, I’m not a murderer, Noah.”

“Then who are you?”

His question catches her off-guard. “What?” she asks.

“You can't fool me anymore,” he says.

With a force that makes him dizzy with pain afterwards, he headbutts the Type Purple humanoid. With a curse, she falls backwards, giving him enough time to roll over and grab his gun. The two stand up quickly at the same time, but he aims the gun at her, much like how this all started. 

“Noah…”

“Do you trust me?” Noah asks.

She pauses, then smiles as she catches up to what he knows. “I always do.”

“Goodbye, Mab.”

And the gunshot echoes through Level 3. 

Noah drops the smoking gun, and it hits the floor at the same time the body does. He follows quickly after. 

It doesn't take long for the other task forces to flood the space now that Mab’s shield wasn’t preventing them from doing so. Noah watches them numbly as they do their job: Scan the area, test for EVE radiation, check for abnormal Hume readings. They only scan him long enough to make sure he’s physically alright, and he’s not under a cognition hazard, and they move on to the dead body. This process is familiar to him, as he’s done it himself.  It’s just part of what a GRAVE operative does.  

It's not until Matt and Nick hook their arms under his and help him onto his feet does he move. He turns away from the scene, not even looking back once.

“Noah—"

“It’s not Mab; not anymore,” Noah says curtly, and keeps walking.

There’s still more to do, but for him? 

It’s all over.

I never needed you to be anything more than human.

“And you're sure you killed her?" 

Noah swallows thickly, resting his head in the palm of his hand. He was dead tired. “Yes,” he replied.

“You're sure of—"

"I don't miss my shots. Check on service record,” Noah snaps, catching himself at the last second. "Sir." 

Noah hates debriefing interviews. It's a bunch of repetitive bullshit, just the interviewers asking the same five questions over and over again in hopes that he'll spill something he wasn't meant to. He can guess why they're coming down especially hard on him. Besides the relationship he had with Mab, there was the broadcasting hiccup along with no recoverable footage, they only had his word to go on.   

And of all people they could've pulled to interview him, they pulled the doctor that hated him the most. Dr. Altef hated Type Purples with an almost racist passion.  He hated Mab so much; he was the reason why Mab was transferred to Site-6. Noah was sure he would be here for hours still. 

“I’m not doubting your aim, Agent Sebastian,” Dr. Altef says, thumbing through a folder thick with paper. Noah bristles at the title, the lack of one obviously a slant against him. “I'm doubting your… motives.”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Noah asks, not caring that the man in front of him has more authority and more clearance than him and the rest of Bad Omens put together. 

“It’s no secret that you and LTE-2995-Cheshiremorph-Violet were… involved with each other,” the director says, distaste dripping from his words, “despite the UPA rulings against team relationships.”

Noah feels a mix of anger and sorrows in his gut. Anger at the use of Mab’s entry name instead of her actual human name, and sorrow for the change of the first letter. L meant Liquidated, Liquidated meant exterminated. 

It meant she was dead. 

Noah had hoped that the person he killed would’ve turned back to its original form. But even hours later, it remained the same. He had shot Man. He had killed Mab. 

Talk about some kind of Greek tragedy… 

He reigns in his emotions before they could get the best of him. “So what, that bullet hole in the middle of her forehead just materialized out of nowhere?” he sneers. A second later, the thought of how Mab probably could materialize a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead, but he keeps that thought to himself.

“We’re trying to get all the facts here, Agent Sebastian,” Dr. Altef sighs in annoyance. 

“We haven’t been seeing each other since the L’Engle event,” Noah finally admits. “Last night was the first time I saw her since.”

“So you say,” Dr. Altef says. He tries to say more, and honestly risks getting his face bashed in, but a knock at the door of the interrogation room tears both of their attentions away. The director goes over to the door and talks briefly with whoever was on the other side. Meanwhile, Noah finishes his coffee, which has gone cold since the start of the interrogation.

Altef returns, looking slightly more smug.  Noah doesn’t like where this might be going. “What?” he asks.

“You’re coming with me,” Altef says. “Why? Where are we going?” Noah asks.

“To the medical ward on Level 2,” Altef says. Noah feels his body go cold as ice. "We're going to watch the autopsy.” 

Unfortunately for Noah, the UPA works fast.   

Not even twelve hours after a bullet was put in it, the corpse was ready for dissection. Noah wasn’t sure why he was being dragged to see this, nor why they were doing an autopsy in the first place. It was clear to see how she obviously died.

Died.

Before the interrogation, when he had been cleared to go home and sleep, he immediately had fallen face-first into his pillows, probably asleep before his face had even hit them. Not once was he interrupted by dreams. When he woke up later that morning, the realization of having a nightmare-free night hit him like a truck, and he broke down at the implication.

She was really gone.

This had to be some kind of punishment. Making him watch as they open and disassemble the body? That alone had to be its own kind of special hell.

Noah looks down from the raised platform he stands on, behind bulletproof glass. Two medical examiners had wheeled the covered body in and moved it to an examination table. They withdrew the white sheet, finally uncovering her.

Despite saying that they hadn’t done anything to her yet, they had already shaved her head of the copper hair that had made her so distinct from everyone else. Noah clenches his fists so hard that he could feel his nails in his palms, despite wearing gloves.

“Type Purple procedure,” Altef says from beside him. “Can’t be too careful.” Like the explanation was supposed to calm the anger slowly boiling inside of Noah.

“Let's get this over with,” the director says. Noah shoots him a glare from the corner of his eyes quickly, then schools his face back into one of indifference.

Noah’s fists clench even more as the examiners direct machinery into position, and the laser makes the first incision. They cut a precise line straight down the body, from the suprasternal notch down to her navel. The laser then split, going opposite ways and then back together to form flaps. The other arms of the machine pull back the skin and muscle. The whole process takes less than ten seconds.

Noah can tell something was wrong just by the examiner's stances. They had paused after looking inside, and they seemed confused as they poke around in the chest cavity for some time, talking to each other.

Dr. Altef gets impatient. “What’s the hold up?” he snaps.

The examiners ignore him, and take out some of the organs. Noah might’ve been an average student growing up, but even he knew that the organs looked… off. Discolored.

Finally, the examiners turn up to the two men peering down at them from the observation room. “We have a problem,” one says, their voice being piped through an intercom.

“What? What is it?” the director snaps. Noah fails to suppress his eye roll.

“This body has… clear signs of atrophy and necrosis. Severely. This body has been dead for a while.”

“I’d put it as being dead for at least a week,” the other examiner says.

Noah can’t help the hoot of laughter he lets out at the director’s incredulous face. “Are you saying that—” Dr. Altef sputters.

“We can run DNA tests, but I’m positive that this isn’t the body of our LTE-2995.”

As the director swears up a storm, Noah allows the smallest smirk he could make without getting noticed.

It wasn’t Mab’s body.

The changes had been superficial. Deep down, the body’s DNA betrayed the fact that it was the body of some random woman that just so happened to match the description of a corpse that had gone missing recently. Mab’s reality-bending powers never ceased to amaze Noah.

And so did her stealth abilities. The second he stepped back into his room after that disaster of a day, he could sense something was off. Usually he kept his room tidy, therefore his eyes immediately zoned in on what was off. A drawer, slightly opened, when he knew it had been shut before he left. An old shirt was missing, and in its place was a single violet tucked into a note.

The next three months were almost unbearable, as it took that long for the UPA to stop scrutinizing Noah’s every movement. After the investigation and he was cleared of any “helping KTE-2995-Cheshiremorph-Purple in her break-in”, he took some long overdue time off. Thanks to some help from Matt, he basically disappeared from sight.

Now, under the disguise of visiting his home country, he thanks the truck driver for bringing him out to this small coastal village in western Ireland. He shells out twice the amount he had promised in thanks. He shoulders his duffel bag and turns the collar of his black trench coat up against the January wind, and walks through the town.

The locals tell him of a small cottage that had mysteriously appeared overnight, and the nice “witch” that soon occupied it. They point him in the direction, and indeed he eventually finds himself trekking down the path towards it. It has a clear line of vision all around it, so there was no way someone could sneak up on her.

The cottage also has a clear view of the ocean, but right now the weather has turned everything gray. Noah squints his eyes, as if he could see through the mists to his birthplace of Hy-Brasil, despite there still being a couple of years before the mists would part for that one day.

The cottage itself looks like something out of a fairy tale. Cobbled stone walls, but with a shingle roof. The windows are lined with intricate stained glass, and violets are blooming in the garden despite the weather. It looks exactly like something she would like.

Noah knocks on the door three times. The inside must be as small as it looks, because he can hear her scrambling towards the front. “Hold on! I’m coming, I’m com—” Several locks turn and the door opens, and the sole occupant stops mid-sentence when she sees him standing there.

“Hi Mab,” Noah says.

Mab Grey remains silent, almost like she’s having a hard time believing he was standing in front of her. She looks exactly like the last time he saw her; the real her. She’s wearing dark leggings and a thick gray sweater, letting her hair and eyes account for the lack of color.

“You’re here,” she whispers as she exhales.

Noah steps inside, ducking through the doorway. “Well, you extended the invitation,” he says, dropping his bag near the door.

Her lips curl into a coy smile. “Well, I didn’t think it would take you this long to figure it out,” she teases.

“Oh please, I knew exactly what you meant,” he shoots back, slowly crowding her backwards until her back hits the wall.

“Damn, I was hoping I was being clever,” she airily laughs, tilting her head back to stare directly into his eyes. Hers sparkle with happiness and anticipation.

“Really?’ he asks, leaning down. “I can wait for you at the bottom.” He kisses the space between her brows. “I can stay away if you want me to.” He kisses the tip of her nose. “I can wait for years if I have to.” He lightly pecks her lips. “Heaven knows I will never get over you,” he finishes quietly, lips hovering over hers.

“Noah…” she sighs.

“So no hard feelings?” he asks.

She rolls her eyes. “You shot me.”

“Mmmmm… If I’m thinking correctly, that wasn’t you, just a puppet,” he says. “But let me make it up to you?”

“I like the sound of that.” She smiles as he cups her face and finally kisses her.

After almost a year of being apart, they meet in a kiss that consumes the both of them. Mab surges up to meet him, standing on her tiptoes to try and make the distance less. Noah ducks down, his hands blindly seeking her thighs, long fingers wrapping around the back of them. He picks her up, wrapping her legs around his hips, and she wraps her arms around his neck to get closer to him, as if they weren’t already fused together into one being.

He pulls her away from the wall, and blindly carries her to the tiny bedroom. He tries to ease her down onto the bed, but she grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him down. It doesn’t take long for them to shed their shirts, and when her offending piece of clothing is discarded, he wraps his lips around the peak of one breast, sucking until her nipple hardens and she squirms against him, letting out sweet whimpers. His fingers tease the other one, matching the motion of his tongue.

Her fingers thread through the hair on the back of his head and she gives a small tug; not enough to make his body react, but just enough to get his attention. He pulls away from her skin, looking up at her through his lashes. “I missed you,” he says. “I missed this.”

“Then show me how much you’ve missed me,” she says.

He grins devilishly at the challenge.

Noah moves away from Mab, kneeling at her feet. He takes one in his hand and kisses her ankle, trailing his lips along the skin of her leg until he gets close to her center. He bypasses it, kissing her hipbone instead. She lets out a huff, and he chuckles darkly.

“Someone’s needy,” he says. He kisses the soft swell of her tummy.

“Well, someone is being a tease,” she shoots back.

“Well, fine. I just wanted to play with my food for a bit,” he says with a mocking huff to match hers. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, running the backs of them along the sensitive skin. “But if you insist…” He yanks her leggings down, tugging her panties along with them.

Fuck. He really had missed her.

He slowly leans down, letting his tongue hang out as he watches her watch him. He licks the bundle of nerves until he sucks her clit between his lips. She lets out a sharp, loud noise, encouraging Noah to speed up his movements while keeping up his rhythm.

Her laboring breath picks up the pace, and he moves one of his hands to replace his tongue with his fingers, rubbing tiny circles around the bundle of nerves as he explores her entrance with his tongue. Her hips jerk at the new contact, and not before long she tenses and cums with a shudder and his name on her tongue.

He nips at the soft sensitive skin of her inner thighs, willing red marks to appear so she can have bruises to remember him by. He only has a week until he has to go back to “hunting” her, and he plans on making the most of it.

“Noah…”

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks before licking her wet slit once to gather her release on his tongue.

She squeaks in surprise, hips jerking at the overstimulation. “Oh my god, get up here already.” She pulls on his hair, but he’s already crawling up to cover her with his body.

This kiss is practically bruising. Mab holds him down as their tongues fight for dominance. He tries to wrestle his pants down, but both of their patience is thin so he only manages to get them and his underwear down past the crease of his ass before he gives up. 

“Mab, hold on, let me—” 

“I wanna feel you. Now.” Her hand dips between them to take his length in hand, and he sighs against her lips.  His breath rate increases as her strokes increase. 

“Damn, you really did miss me,” she says, grinning.

“Play later,” he growls, taking her wrist in his hand. She doesn’t let go, so they both guide his cock to her entrance. They moan simultaneously as he slowly slides in. 

After a few thrusts, he feels the problem. His zipper is rubbing against him uncomfortably, making him wince. Mab must feel it too, because after a bit she pulls away and asks to stop.  She laughs as he frustratingly kicks his remaining clothes down his legs and throws them as if they personally offended him.

“God, I love you,” she says. 

Noah pauses, and smiles. “I love you, too.”

Noah crashes his lips back onto Mab’s, putting their mishap behind them.  It takes a few moments to get back into the mood, a few gropes and a few moans, but soon he’s sliding back in, causing her body to bend. And he has every intention to make her break. 

He braces his knees between her legs and pulls her up along with him.  “Noah, what—” she manages to get out before he quickly thrusts up, causing her words to choke off into a moan.  One of her legs wraps around him while her other keeps her up for support, but she has to wrap her arms around his neck as he pounds her into oblivion. 

“I love you,” he whispers lowly into the space of her neck below her ear.

He feels her pussy tighten at the words and it sends them both toppling over the edge. Mab clutches onto him as she buries her face into the crook of his neck. Her shoulders shake as he sinks down onto the bed.

They hold each other as if the other would dissipate it they let go. 

“Please… stay…” Mab sobs. 

“As always,” Noah replies.  

Featured Creatures: 

@shilohrosechicken, @comforting-madness, @ladyveronikawrites, @roley-poley-foley, @sitkowski

@deathblacksmoke, @darksigns-exe, @dominuslunae, @into-the-grey, @nojoyontheburn

@baddestomens, @lilhobgobbler, @hedonists

“Global Occult Coalition Casefiles” by DrClef, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/goc-hub-page. Licensed under CC-BY-SA

“GOC Codewords” by unknown author, from the SCP Sandbox Wiki. Source: https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/collab:goc-codewords#. Licensed under CC-BY-SA. 

Content relating to the SCP Foundation is licensed under creative commons sharealike 3.0 and all concepts originated from https://scpwiki.com/ and its authors. “ANYTHING > HUMAN”, being derived from this content, is hereby also released under Creative commons Sharealike 3.0

An excerpt from “The Prox Transmissions” is included in this article. “The Prox Transmissions” (2016) was written and is owned by Dustin Bates and The Starset Society.

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Phantom Pain ଓ♱˚⋆

When I wrote the first fic of my Yandere Church AU, I never expected it to expand into a whole series. Now it’s time for Cartaphilus! Dainsleif x Yandere! Demon! Reader………and yes, Dain is the darling in this fic ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ

I hope y’all enjoy their twisted story and the cameos to my previous fics!! Special thanks to my beta-reader @diodellet, @brynn-lear who helped me with Dain’s characterization, and all of my mutuals who listened to my brainrot~

Tw:: YANDERE, psychological trauma, blood, graphic violence, death, stalking, dubcon, noncon, mention of nsfw, MDNI, please take note of all of these warnings

Notes:: Female reader, FICTIONAL depictions of religion, inspired by Cartaphilus from The Ancient Magus’ Bride, I’m sorry Dain (*´꒳`*)

♡ 7.3k words under the cut ♡

♡ Among God’s creations, His favorite is granted a special fate. Though all lives end in death, only humanity is blessed with salvation and afterlife. Those who live righteously may thus ascend to Heaven, whereas sinners are condemned to eternal suffering in Hell. There is, however, one exception—a fragment of humanity whose sins may never be forgiven.

♡ Legends speak of Khaenri’ah, the nation of sinners. Once the pride of humankind, its citizens challenged God through their creations in alchemy and technology—and the entire nation was subsequently destroyed in a sea of flames. In the wake of the Cataclysm, pollen from the Tree of Life rained down upon the survivors, afflicting them with their final punishment, immortality.

♡ Since then, Khaenri’ahns have roamed the mortal plane in a perpetual state of living. Denied a place in Heaven and Hell, they are cursed to live forever no matter what harm befalls their body and psyche. Due to their wicked reputation, they must also live in fear of their once-fellow humans, lest they face persecution. For this reason, eternity differs among Khaenri’ahns.

♡ After the Cataclysm, the survivors scattered across Teyvat. Many established secret communities to preserve their culture and find solace in companionship. Others settled in foreign nations, periodically assuming new identities to evade suspicion. And a few became travelers, moving from place to place with no home to call their own.

♡ One such traveler is Dainsleif. After failing to prevent the destruction of his nation, he began an endless journey around Teyvat. His initial goal was to protect his fellow survivors and seek a cure for their curse. But as Khaenri’ah faded from memory, so did its people. Many succumbed to pain, madness, violence—and despite his best efforts, Dainsleif was unable to save any of them. In the perpetual meantime of a cruel eternity, all he could do was travel onwards, clinging to a thread of hope.

♡ That all changes when he wanders into the ruins of an ancient temple, 300 years after the Cataclysm. Had he known it was a place of worship, Dainsleif would have camped outside. But the structure is abandoned, inconspicuous, a perfect shelter against the ongoing storm. So he goes inside, lighting the way with his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. And only when he meets you does he realize he’d set foot in unholy ground.

♡ A pattern glows on the floor—a summoning circle he’d unknowingly stepped into, concealed with splatters of dried blood. From it, a winged figure emerges in a burst of light and slams him against the cracked tiles. Dizzily, he registers a strong hand pressing down on his neck, an aura of overwhelming divinity, a brilliant glare that strikes fear into his very soul.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Ah, let’s see. Just when I thought this place had succumbed to the elements, who has the insolence to summon me?”

In your divine presence, Dainsleif can only look up and take in your inhuman features. Sharp talons. Four wings with silvery black-and-gray feathers, resembling an eagle’s plumage. A single horn jutting from the left side of your head. Eyes as bright as miniature suns.

A demon. How in the world did he summon a demon?

He glances at the sigil etched on the floor. From what he knows of these rituals, they are only successful if specific instructions are followed and the demon’s true name is uttered. Was it because he used Khaenri’ahn sorcery within the summoning circle?

He meets your gaze. “I never intended—”

Your eyes widen. “Oh?”

Still gripping his neck, you lift him up and brush the loose strands of hair away from his face. The action uncovers his eyes, bright blue with pupils shaped like four-pointed stars.

“A Khaenri’ahn?”

At this point, Dainsleif doesn’t know what to do. He struggles in your grasp, only to stop when your talons dig into his skin. Your gaze remains locked onto his.

Slowly, your lips curve into a fanged smile.

“And such a pretty one at that.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Somehow, Dainsleif’s curse has saved him from your wrath. Still, he remains vigilant as you put him down and demand to hear his life story—why, when you have already glimpsed his soul? Reluctantly, he tells you everything from his previous life to the circumstances that brought him to your temple. Once he is finished, you allow him to stay in your temple until the storm ends.

♡ As you move, he notices a trio of jagged scars on your body—one on each shoulder, another one between your first pair of wings. He makes no mention of it, however, and instead asks for your identity. In response to that, you give him an enigmatic smile, whisper your true name, and promptly disappear. The only proof of your encounter is the dark bruise around Dainsleif’s neck.

♡ He doesn’t sleep well. At the crack of dawn, he gets up and does a quick exploration of the temple ruins. From the looks of it, it could be thousands of years old. There are sculpted images of suns, beasts, and paradises. The bloodstained floor implies a violent end for the previous intruders—or was it from your official summoning rituals? At any rate, one thing is clear: You are a powerful demon, one who was previously worshiped as a false god.

♡ He leaves after sunrise, relieved to have survived the ordeal…only for your paths to cross a few days later. And the week after that. Again and again. Most of the time, you appear out of nowhere, invisible to everyone except for Dainsleif. Other times, your presence manifests in a stray feather, inhuman shadows, the persistent feeling that he is being watched.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Oh, hello, Dain. Did you enjoy your drink?”

“...What have you done?”

In the dark alley, your bloody visage is a terrifying sight. A human is passed out at your feet, their arm covered in deep scratches and blackened veins.

Dainsleif takes a step back. That person…isn’t that the drunkard who tried to start a fight with him at the tavern?

A sinister smile appears on your face. “Don’t worry, I just cast a little curse on them.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ He doesn’t know what to make of his situation. In Khaenri’ah, demons were perceived as wicked creatures that lead humanity down the path of sin. You have yet to harm him, unless your plan is to lull him into a false sense of security first. It would certainly explain your frequent visits, your honeyed words, your cheerful demeanor around him.

♡ During your encounters, he asks you questions. As it turns out, it is difficult to find information on you. Humans usually refer to a specific demon by their title, so your true name is only useful when he is addressing you. You don’t reveal much about yourself, apart from the fact that your current role in Hell is torturing the souls of deceased sinners.

♡ The answer is found in the Sumeru Akademiya. The House of Daena has a forbidden archive that includes grimoires, research on spiritual beings, as well as related literature. It doesn’t take long for him to find the hidden room. As he examines the bookshelves, he notices a few written records of Khaenri’ah, all of which depict his people in a negative light.

♡ He begins with a book about the celestial hierarchy. According to the writer, there are nine ranks of angels and only the Second Order, the Cherubim, have two pairs of eagle wings. They also have four heads—human, lion, ox, eagle…and in the accompanying illustration, the animal heads are located in the exact same place as your scars.

♡ Next is the grimoire of Il Dottore. He flips through the section dedicated to demons, skimming the notes and sigils. There is the Puppeteer, the Fair Lady, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge whom Dottore formed a pact with, and so on. Finally, he comes across a familiar sigil.

The Beheaded Cherub

-True name: ______

-Created in the ███ Era, fell from grace in the ██████ Era

-Basic status: 1 head (human), 1 set of fangs (lion), 1 horn (ox), 2 pairs of wings and 10 talons (harpy eagle)

-One of the most powerful demons in Hell by virtue of her previous rank and her prominence in human cognizance. She was once venerated as a false god by the Temple of Light.

-Prior to her descent, she was called “the Beast of Beatitude.” █████ says her divine punishment was the loss of her animal heads and the development of her beastly traits.

-A unique specimen. It is a pity that I could not obtain a sample of her. If we meet again, more insight can be gained into the mental faculties of a fallen Cherub.

♡ The next page has an illustration drawn from memory. It’s you. An ornate choker protects your neck, and your expression is one of wrath. There is also a report of Dottore’s encounter with you: He’d trapped the Puppeteer via exorcism and obtained one of his wings. Before he could do worse, you suddenly appeared and rescued Scaramouche. Dottore theorized that you left without attacking him because you saw the Cherub’s skeleton in his laboratory.

♡ That book leads Dainsleif down a rabbit hole of texts. Historical records of the Temple of Light. Literary depictions of “the Beheaded Cherub.” The sketchbook of an artist whose muses were demons. Reports of mysterious curses that manifested in pain and disfigurement. All of those sources point to you.

♡ Well, one thing is clear: He is doomed. It’s bad enough that he is dealing with a spiritual being, what more a powerful one. It is at this moment that he senses your presence behind him.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Hello, Dain. I see you’ve figured out who I am.”

This time, he doesn’t look at you. “You never told me of your appetite for humans. Just how many were sacrificed for the Temple of Light’s offerings?”

Silence. Dainsleif continues to face the desk, closing the book in his hands.

Finally, you answer him. “That was not my command. The Temple of Light was founded by one of my earliest humans. Most of their beliefs and rituals were his own ideas, believe it or not.”

“And where is he now? Is he one of those sinners that you are so fond of torturing?”

He can imagine the sight behind him: You, in all of your demonic glory, casting large shadows against the walls. It is easy to reconcile your image with your sinister depictions.

“No,” you reply. “Once a human dies, all of their pacts are broken. As such, I have no reason to maintain ties with my former humans, especially the one who gave me such a wretched title. I let my coworkers handle their punishments.”

“And do you intend to make a deal with me as well?”

It is the only rational explanation he can think of.

“Wrong again. As a matter of fact, demons cannot form pacts with Khaenri’ahns, hence our indifference to your kind. What use is there for a soul that will never enter Hell?”

Dainsleif glances at the Lesser Key of Deshret. According to that source, most humans sought you out for the purpose of cursing their enemies.

He turns around. “Let me ask you this. Why are you following me?”

In the candlelight, your gaze has never looked more intense. “Is it not enough to say that I am mesmerized by you?”

The look he gives you is one of pure doubt.

You stand in front of him, touching his half-mask.

“I saw it all, Dainsleif,” you tell him, “when I looked into your soul. Your righteousness as the Twilight Sword, your perseverance after the Cataclysm, the hope you’ve clung to for all these centuries…I find it all so fascinating.”

He pulls away, glaring. “Is that all? A mere sense of curiosity?”

You smile at him. “Well, there is also your beauty. When I look at you, I can almost understand why humanity is the only creation which God deemed perfect.”

“Your flattery is as banal as it is unwarranted,” he scoffs. Stepping aside, he tidies up the desk and returns the books to their shelves. “I have never received the favor of God in the past. I don't see any reason I would need yours now or in the future, either.”

That is when you burst into laughter.

“Are you sure about that? Believe me, Dain, I have a lot to offer.”

As you push him against the wall, your expression becomes deathly serious.

“Two centuries ago,” you whisper, “a Khaenri’ahn was burned at the stake in Fontaine. She survived, of course, but was left with scars that will never heal. Another one encountered the wrong group of heretics and, to this day, his body is being used for their rituals.”

“I…” Dread pools up in his stomach. Does he know those individuals?

“And just last year, I heard the Church of Snezhnaya discovered a community of Khaenri’ahns and buried everyone alive. They’re all trapped underground, barely conscious. But even if they are freed, I doubt their bodies could still function after being deprived of nutrients for so long.”

Snezhnaya…are you talking about the one led by Pierro?

“Oh, and how could I forget?” You lean closer, your eyes reflecting Dainsleif’s agonized face. “Long before the Cataclysm, the Tree of Life disappeared from the human realm. Nobody, not even the angels, knows if it still exists. What more for the Khaenri’ahns who dedicated their eternity to searching for it?”

No.

If the Tree of Life is gone…

Does that mean there is truly no way to break the curse?

At this point, Dainsleif is trembling. “______, please tell me you are—mph!”

There is nothing gentle about your kiss. The back of his head hits the wall, and his mask falls to the floor. When he tries to resist, you capture his wrists in an iron grip.

It’s too much. Panicking, he resorts to his Khaenri’ahn sorcery but the galaxy-like aura is easily extinguished by your radiant light. You spread your wings, caging him in silvery feathers. Sharp fangs graze his bottom lip. He can’t do anything. He has to call for help—

Footsteps echo outside the room.

Just as quickly as the idea comes to mind, Dainsleif falls silent. What is he thinking? What if the scholar sees his cursed marks and realizes he is a Khaenri’ahn?

He stays still, praying the door remains locked. When the footsteps recede, he slumps against the wall.

His relief isn’t lost on you. Pulling away, you trace the blue veins and black marks on his face. A sinful smile plays on your lips.

“Do you understand, darling? No one, not even God, will save you.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ After that revelation, Dainsleif continues to wander Teyvat. But he does so aimlessly, in your company. There are attempts to ward you off—religious objects, carefully-worded negotiations, a few hours spent inside a church—but all end in your amused reactions. It becomes routine for you to meet him every few days, providing Mora for his expenses and information on the places he visits.

♡ Your threats are no laughing matter. Thankfully, your violence never exceeds the severity of your first meeting. A strong grip on his hand. Talons playfully tracing his cursed marks. There is that time you swooped in, picked him up, and threatened to drop him off a cliff for trying to hide from you…then you later brushed it off as an empty threat.

♡ You’re also very affectionate, if such a word can be used to describe a demon. At one point, you begin leaving gifts for him—a new cloak, bejeweled hairpins, gems in the same shade of blue as his eyes. He tries to decline your gifts on the basis of practicality but you’re difficult to persuade. Moreover, he keeps finding your stray feathers on his clothes.

♡ Then there is the matter of your physical intimacy. By now, Dainsleif is used to your kisses and cuddles. The worst part is when your hands wander, when you defile his body after sundown, when his resistance crumbles into moans and tears. Those nights always end in his skin tainted with love bites, teeth marks, light scratches. Thankfully, you are unable to brand him with your sigil though that doesn’t stop you from longingly biting the back of his neck.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“______, that’s enough.”

“Hmm?” You press another kiss to his shoulder. “What did you say?”

He gives you a tired look. “I need to sleep.”

Just how unending is a demon’s stamina? It’s past midnight, and he doubts he will be able to leave the bed later. Perhaps he can ask the innkeeper for an extension.

“All right.” You pull the blankets over the two of you. Then you wrap your arms around him, keeping him close. “I’ll give you enough Mora for a week’s stay.”

He lies on his side, staring at the wall. “You don’t have to.”

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep. In a few minutes, your grip loosens and all Dainsleif can hear is his own breathing. Carefully, he turns over to face you.

…He never knows how to deal with you after your depravity has been exhausted. You’re always gentle as you clean him up and cuddle him in bed. When you sleep, you are no different from a corpse. No sounds, no movements, a neutral expression on your face.

Sighing, he shifts to a more comfortable position and closes his eyes.

When he wakes up, you are gone. Your side of the bed is still warm.

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ A few years later, you decide to accompany Dainsleif in a different form. It all starts when he meets a fellow traveler in Mondstadt. They’d camped in the same forest and it was hard to ignore them, especially when they asked for his help. In the end, Dainsleif relented and they explored the forest together. He thought it would be safe since you never visit him on Sundays.

♡ He leaves the forest the next morning, after agreeing to lunch at a nearby tavern. But when he arrives, he finds his acquaintance being restrained and dragged into a medical vehicle. They are absolutely feral, but most alarming are the wounds on their face. Before they pass out, Dainsleif makes eye contact with them and notices an indigo glint in their eyes.

♡ A waiter fills him in on what happened: His acquaintance suddenly went mad, made a mess in the tavern, and ran straight into a mirror. When Dainsleif visits them at the clinic, they are visibly disoriented, claiming they didn’t know what came over them. They are escorted home a few days later, their face covered in scars, and Dainsleif never sees them again.

♡ The next day, he is strolling around Mondstadt City when a familiar pair of arms wraps around him. He muffles a gasp and turns around to give you a subtle glare—have you forgotten that he is in public?—only to stop when he sees you. Your demonic features are gone, and you are wearing traveler’s attire. Moreover, the surrounding humans can also see you.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“So, darling, do you like my human guise?”

The smile hasn’t left your face. It’s natural, considering the fact that Dainsleif is the one holding your hand and leading you to a secluded spot.

He lets go of you. “What are you planning now?”

You frown, placing the same hand over your chest. “I just wanted to spend more time with you. It’s no fun when you ignore me in the presence of humans.”

“______.” Your name leaves his lips in an exasperated voice. “How can I be sure that you won’t draw more attention to me?”

“Hey, have more faith in me,” you pout. In this form, you look significantly less imposing. “I’ve used this guise many times in the past. And isn’t it easier for you to interact with me this way, rather than pretend I’m not right in front of you?”

It’s not like any amount of persuasion would work on you.

He sighs. “Well, that’s as good a reason as any. Follow me, then.”

With that, the two of you return to the Market District. Dainsleif orders two chicken-mushroom skewers, not missing the way your eyes sparkle when he asks you if you want anything else.

A few feet away, a Mondstadter casts a flirtatious glance at him. But before they can approach him, you wrap your arm around his waist and scare them off with a fervent glare.

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Your human guise brings about more changes in Dainsleif’s journey, from couple promos to less strangers bothering him. At times, you break away from him to pet wild animals or purchase items for yourself. In those moments, he can’t help but watch you from a distance. Your face is capable of many expressions, he observes, some of which are actually quite nice to look at.

♡ You also continue to share valuable information with him. Once, Dainsleif picks up a book entitled Molten Moment. In the foreword, the author claimed that it was based on the life of a demon they’d formed a pact with. Not only did you confirm the truth to their story, you also stop at a certain chapter. In it, the protagonist spoke to a Power whose true name was of Khaenri’ahn origin.

♡ That is how Dainsleif learns there are angels who look like Khaenri’ahns. They have the same starry eyes and facial features as his people, though God stopped creating them a long time ago. Many of them became demons for opposing the Cataclysm out of personal attachment to Khaenri’ah. And those who remained as angels rarely use their human guise in the present.

♡ And when Dainsleif asks about the Power featured in the book, you give him a sad smile. Then you say something about a fight you lost, sparring sessions, and regular conversations. In the present, however, your encounters with Il Capitano are only a painful reminder that you are “no longer at full strength.”

♡ You also explain that unlike angels, demons typically aren’t close with one another. Though you do mention a pair of younger demons that you took in after their descent. There is a soft look in your eyes every time you talk about Scaramouche and Pantalone, and you like to buy souvenirs for them. In times like this, Dainsleif is reminded of the family he lost, the home he can never return to.

˖⋆‧˚✦

Bright. It’s too bright.

Dainsleif looks up. The sky is crimson, reflecting the sea of flames consuming his homeland.

Beneath him, the ground shatters into fragments. Screams of terror echo in the distance. All around him, he is greeted with chaos and destruction.

Where is Halfdan? What happened to the Royal Guards? How many more people are going to meet their end?

Suddenly, a ray of light shines upon his nation, so bright that it hurts his eyes. What are those particles raining down from the sky?

It burns.

He falls to his knees, coughing. Something is wrong. His body…he raises his right hand and watches in horror as the skin becomes corrupted.

Amidst his pain, all he can think of are the people he failed to protect.

-

“Dain? Dain, wake up!”

The holy light disappears.

Blearily, Dainsleif opens his eyes to darkness. A hand is on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

“What…?”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Your face comes into view. Gently, you pull him into a sitting position and rub soothing circles on his back. “It was just a dream.”

Another nightmare.

He glances at the window. The night sky is cloudy.

“Take deep breaths,” you continue. Your eyes, shining with a soft radiance, are the only source of light in the room. The tip of your wing brushes against his cheek—was he crying in his sleep?

For once, Dainsleif doesn’t back away from your touch. He leans against you, trying to steady himself, his gaze still fixed on the starless sky.

Hesitantly, you ask, “It was about the Cataclysm, wasn’t it? Do you want to talk about it?”

“...There is no need,” he mumbles. “My dreams are a rarity. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”

He draws back, taking note of your worried expression. “Did I startle you?”

“Ah, not really,” you reply. Strands of hair are tangled around your horn, and you comb them out with your fingers. “....Though if I’m going to be honest, a part of me was curious.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Your wings twitch. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just…I’ve always wondered what a nightmare feels like, since I am incapable of dreaming.”

“I see…is that a common trait amongst demons?”

You shake your head. “No. In fact, it’s one of the first abilities a demon gains after their descent. But in the millennia since I’ve been cast out of Heaven, I haven’t had a single dream.”

His gaze drifts to your scars. “Does it have something to do with your divine punishment?”

As soon as you look away, he realizes it was a correct guess.

“Say, darling,” you mutter. “Can you stand the sight of your cursed marks?”

He looks at his right hand. “At one point, I stopped dwelling on it.”

“Well, at least those marks are easy to cover up.”

This time, Dainsleif is the one staring at you.

This isn’t his first time seeing cracks in your demeanor. He has noticed many over the years, from the occasional headache to your wistful gaze directed at eagles flying overhead. Once, you suddenly flinched and touched one of your scars, only to brush it off when he asked about it.

Even if you take pride in your demonic visage, it doesn’t erase the scars of your past.

“Do you believe your god to have punished you fairly?”

You meet his gaze, frowning. “What did you say?”

“Forgive me for being direct,” he tells you. “You do not pry into my secrets, so I never pried into yours…but if you would like to tell me, I will listen.”

For a few seconds, you just stare back at him. Are you glimpsing his soul again? From his end, all he can see is your gaze turning dim.

“My answer is no.”

Your expression turns bitter. Dainsleif lets you elaborate.

“When I was an angel,” you whisper, “I used all four of my heads. Seeing the world from every angle, speaking in different sounds, expressing multiple emotions at once…those abilities are what set the Cherubim apart from the rest of God’s creations.”

Your jewelry glitters on the nightstand. Earlier today, you’d worn an esclavage necklace with three cameo pendants. Each pendant bears the image of an animal—a lion, an ox, an eagle.

“So you can imagine how difficult it was to lose them,” you continue. You grip your upper arms, talons digging into your skin. “My beastly heads, all reduced to dust before my remaining eyes. And even then, our creator did not spare what was left of my body.”

A mirror hangs on the wall. It perfectly reflects Dainsleif’s cursed marks and your sorrowful countenance.

“This face was perfectly human until I grew fangs. My talons will always be in my line of sight. And don’t even get me started on the differences between halos and horns. It’s not…!”

Your voice cracks. At the same time, Dainsleif scoots closer to you.

In the dark, your expression looks tired. Resigned.

“So who cares if I looked down on humanity?” you mumble. “Why couldn’t I be forgiven? By now, I’ve lived over half of my life as a demon and yet…it still hurts.”

That ends your confession. You stare at your lap, wings lowered.

What is he supposed to say in this scenario?

From the beginning, Dainsleif knew it would be meaningless to believe in baseless depictions of demons. Still, it’s perplexing to see this side of you, to feel sympathy for the present source of his vexation and anxiety.

Yet in this moment, he finds himself reaching out to you. He copies your soothing gesture from earlier, placing his hand on the area between your wings.

You allow it, resting your head on his shoulder. After a few minutes, you break the silence.

“You know, darling, I’ve always wondered…why do you remain unchanged? Why do you still choose to live righteously when you will never be rewarded with a place in Heaven?”

He looks you in the eye. “That was never my goal. All I’ve ever dreamed of was peace. So even if there is no more hope for me…there must be for my fellow humans.”

At that, you hold his cursed hand and give him a pitying look.

“But darling…at this point, can you even call yourself human?”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Decades pass. Dainsleif continues to wander Teyvat, with you as his sole companion. By now, he has long grown tolerant of your presence…and he has even begun to crave it on the days when you are busy in Hell. But he keeps it a secret, along with the sparks of attraction that he is beginning to feel towards you. Instead, he chalks it up to loneliness. That must be it.

♡ Despite that, his affection reveals itself in subtle gestures. Mint brew for your headaches. Practical gifts such as gloves and weapons. Once, the two of you were exploring Dragonspine when he noticed that your scarf had loosened. He adjusted it for you, careful not to touch your scars; and after your initial shock, you stared ahead and quietly thanked him.

♡ These days, he can’t find any Khaenri’ahns apart from a few descendants. In those cases, he has a short conversation with them then leaves without divulging their ancestry. It’s enough to know that those individuals are spared from the curse and able to live ordinary lives, though he wonders if their ancestors are doing well. He can’t make any new friends, either, due to your possessive nature though he does get acquainted with your “family.”

♡ One day, he wanders Liyue on his own and encounters a bespectacled local. He introduces himself as Pantalone and commissions Dainsleif to collect Noctilucous Jade for him. With nothing else to do, Dainsleif accepts the job but is later paid a much higher price than the 500 Mora he’d charged. But when he objects, Pantalone gives him a saccharine smile and tells him that he is “merely showing generosity towards his Jiejie’s pet.” Then he disappears.

♡ A year after that encounter, you attend the concert of a Snezhnayan singer. The Balladeer has an emotional voice, but Dainsleif is distracted by a familiar glint in their eyes. After the performance, you bring him to the dressing room. The Balladeer is slumped over a chair, their eyes branded with a sigil, and an indigo-eyed demon looms over them. As you congratulate Scaramouche on “another excellent possession,” Dainsleif dreadfully recalls the traveler he met in Mondstadt.

♡ He confronts you about it in your hotel room. A part of him did suspect your involvement in his acquaintance’s disfigurement, but it’s different when you are guiltlessly confirming it. After a fiery argument, Dainsleif goes to sleep and coldly ignores you for the remainder of his stay in Snezhnaya. It was foolish of him to forget about your sinister nature.

♡ Not long after, he realizes that he hasn’t seen you in days. That is odd—usually, you inform him in advance if you have to stay in Hell for an extended period. Or did his outrage finally have its desired effect on you? He continues his journey, nonetheless, but it feels…different. Since meeting you, he had the assurance that his solitariness is only short-lived, that you’d always come back to bother him. But now? He isn’t so sure.

♡ He stops finding molted feathers on his clothes. When he looks in the mirror, he notices that your love bites have all but faded completely from his body. At the sight of his cursed marks, he recalls the nights you’d spend lovingly tracing the corrupted skin. You once told him that the luminous veins compliment his blue eyes, and his response had been a withering look.

♡ He goes to Sumeru. The House of Daena has undergone multiple renovations, and the secret archive has been moved to a new room. He rereads the texts about you and Khaenri’ah, taking note of each inaccuracy. How many years ago was his last visit? Has it really been 200 years since the day he crossed paths with you? So much has changed since then.

♡ Afterwards, Dainsleif finds himself wandering the area near Khaenri’ah. He hasn’t set foot in his homeland ever since the Cataclysm, but memory is a dangerous temptation. Just as he is about to walk away, he hears a loud sob and runs into the ruins.

♡  He finds a young person kneeling in a patch of Inteyvat flowers, hands clasped in prayer. When he calls out to them, they lift their head to reveal tears and star-shaped pupils in their eyes. Their face, however, is pristine. Are their cursed marks concealed with makeup? Or are they just a descendant of Khaenri’ah? Dainsleif crouches in front of them, offering his help…and that is when the person’s destitute expression twists into an eerie grin.

♡ Suddenly, the Inteyvat wrap around his limbs, restraining him. A heavy weight strikes the back of his head—the blunt side of a sword? Through his blurry vision, he watches as a celestial halo and a pair of glittery wings emerge from the body of the “Khaenri’ahn.” Two similar silhouettes appear near them, one in bronze armor and the other adorned with flowers. Everything goes dark.

♡ When he wakes up, he is in what seems to be a church. His body is chained to the altar and he feels dizzy, fading in and out of consciousness. From the looks of the stained-glass windows, it is already night. Beside him is a wounded figure, also restrained, more skeleton than flesh. They blankly stare ahead, unresponsive to his questions, and…is that Halfdan?

♡ The horrifying revelation is worsened by the presence of his attackers. From what Dainsleif can recall of the books he’d read, they are angels from the Second Sphere. The Dominion’s starry gaze is full of hatred as they narrate his comrade’s life after the Cataclysm. Halfdan had stayed behind to search for survivors, up until the angels took over their home. And in the decades since, he had been starved, tortured, kept alive only by the curse.

♡ By the end of their speech, all hope has left Dainsleif. Already, he is on the brink of passing out again and the chains have neutralized his Khaen’riahn sorcery. How can fate be so cruel to him? As the Dominion flies over to him, their multiple eyes blazing with cruelty, he whispers an apology to Halfdan and braces himself for a new world of suffering.

♡ Except they never lay a hand on him. In a burst of light, a taloned hand grabs the Dominion by the halo and slams them against the marble tiles. The other angels scream and cower in fear, a familiar name leaving their lips. Halfdan remains catatonic. As for Dainsleif, all he feels is pure relief at the sight of his savior.

♡ At this moment, you have never looked scarier. Your face is twisted in an expression of animalistic rage, and your glare could outshine the sun. You curse the Dominion this time, followed by the Virtue and the Power, before flying over to Dainsleif and breaking his chains. Before he faints again, he manages to point at Halfdan and beg you to help him as well.

♡ How long was he asleep? When he wakes up, the stained-glass windows are all shattered to reveal a sky the color of twilight. He and Halfdan have been moved to a corner of the church, kept warm by a blanket. And when he looks around the holy sanctuary, all he can see is carnage.

♡ Pieces of armor and flesh are scattered across the floor—the Power, brutally dismembered. Slumped against the double doors is the body of the Virtue, flowers and wings ripped off their cursed body. A rhythmic pattern of thuds directs his attention to the altar, where you are torturing the Dominion.

♡ They’re still alive, but barely. The eyes on their wings have been gouged out, and their halo has been reduced to fragments. You are bashing their face against the altar repeatedly—for how long? They have been disfigured beyond recognition. You ignore their desperate cries for forgiveness, only stopping when Dainsleif calls out to you.

♡ And just like that, your demeanor shifts from ferocity to concern. A loud crack echoes in the church as you finish off the Dominion and leave their corpse on the altar. Then you go over to Dainsleif, reassuring him that he is safe. But in the warmth of your embrace, he can only look at Halfdan.

♡ It’s too late for him. Irreparable damage has already been done to his body, what more for his psyche. Still, Dainsleif finds himself speaking to Halfdan, staring into his blank eyes, asking you if anything can be done to alleviate his pain. And when you ask him how badly he wants to put his comrade out of his misery…he understands the implication. And he tells you to do it.

♡ He doesn’t know if Halfdan can hear him. Nonetheless, Dainsleif forces a smile on his face, thanks him for faithfully doing his duty, and lies about the fate of Khaenri’ah. Then he moves aside, allowing him to crouch in front of Halfdan. Gently, you touch his face and whisper something to him. Then you spread your wings, blocking Dainsleif’s view.

♡ There is another crack. When you fold your wings, Halfdan’s head has been crushed and you are staring into his blank eyes. Glimpsing his soul, you confirm his comatose state and comfort Dainsleif. The rest of the day is spent preparing a makeshift grave and burying Halfdan in it. When you finally leave Khaenri’ah, Dainsleif turns back to face the ruins of his homeland. He hopes that his comrade is having a nice dream.

 ˖⋆‧˚✦

“I can do this by myself, you know.”

“I know. Now stay still, won’t you?”

“Right now, your health is more important.”

“And who are you to decide that?”

“______.” He gives you an exasperated look in the mirror and takes the comb out of your hands. “I am perfectly capable of brushing my own hair.”

The mirror reflects your stubborn expression. “But Dain—”

“I insist.” His gaze drifts to your bandaged shoulder, followed by the bruises near your neck. “Get some rest.”

“Oh, fine.” Shaking your head, you walk away from the vanity table.

Dainsleif faces his reflection. Aside from a bruise on the back of his head, his body is unharmed by the angel attack. To think it has only been a few hours since he left Khaenri’ah and returned to Shapur Hotel with you. He doesn’t know how he managed to get through dinner in his grief-stricken state.

At least his physical pain has subsided. And he feels better after taking a bath, though you were insistent on joining him. You wouldn’t even let him hold the hairdryer.

“Where on earth are my feathers?”

The facade of normalcy is broken by your sudden outburst. When Dainsleif turns to you, he sees you sifting through the clothes he’d just worn.

You give him an indignant look. “No wonder those angels didn’t know—What were you even doing in Khaenri’ah? Couldn’t you have at least waited for me to accompany you?!”

“...I kept them in my bag,” he answers. He walks over to the desk, where he’d placed his mask and the satchel you’d gifted him ten years ago. “I never knew there was a rational purpose to your feathers. I thought it was merely a sign of ownership.”

“Huh? Were you blind to the feathers on my brothers’ clothes?”

“That, I believed to be your equivalent of a family symbol.”

“In the past two centuries, did you even think of asking me about it?!”

He did try, at the start of your companionship, and you only said that he’d regret wasting your feathers. But Dainsleif knows better than to say that right now.

So instead, he yields to your embrace. This close, he can feel your body shaking.

“Do you know how frightened I was when I realized what happened to you?” you whisper.

“Now I do,” he mumbles. He hugs you back, positioning his hands below your lower wings. “Thank you for saving me.”

After a few minutes, he is the one to break the silence.

“Where were you these past weeks? I wondered if we’d ever meet again.”

“Oh, that? I just had a lot on my plate. Another headache, a new batch of sinners…and I figured you’d want some time to yourself. Ah, and I almost forgot!”

This time, you pick up your bloodstained clothes and take something out of your pocket.

“Here.” Facing him, you open the velvet box in your hands.

His eyes widen. “Oh, that’s…”

A ring. This isn’t the first one he has received from you, but it looks special. The gold band is engraved with intricate stars. The stone in the center is smooth, lustrous, with a radiant glow.

“What mineral is this?” he asks.

You tilt your head, and that is when he notices your horn. It looks normal at first glance, but it is shorter by a single inch.

“I commissioned one of the best craftsmen in Hell,” you explain. “How’s this? It should be easier to wear than my feathers, don’t you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” he admits, but his gaze hasn’t left your horn. “Was it—”

“It’s fine.” It sounds like the reassurance isn’t only for him. But he can tell that your smile is genuine. “It’ll grow back.”

“All right, then.” He allows you to lift his cursed hand and slip the ring onto his finger. “…Thank you for the gift.”

“Now, why don’t we get some sleep? It’s been a long day.”

With that, Dainsleif follows you to the bed. As always, you wrap your arms around him, pressing your torso against his back. Your wings also hug him, caging him in silvery feathers.

You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

He stares ahead. “If you insist.”

The window showcases the second twilight of the day. You continue speaking.

“Tomorrow, do you want to have dinner at Lambad’s Tavern? It’s been a while since we enjoyed a drink together.”

“Sure,” he says. Already, he can feel the temptation of sleep. “And afterwards?”

A taloned fingertip traces the blue veins on his palm. “We can go wherever you want. There are a lot of new places to visit in Sumeru. I’ve heard of a new resort that opened in Inazuma. Oh, and if we leave for Liyue next week, we can get there in time for the Lantern Rite Festival.”

He intertwines your fingers. “I see. That sounds nice.”

He turns his head, facing you. Your eyes are bright, reflecting the stars in his own gaze.

“We can make our decision tomorrow.” With that, you give him a soft smile and close your eyes. “Sweet dreams, Dain.”

“Good night.”

He remains awake, however, long after the sky has turned dark. His hand is still in yours, his new ring glowing brighter than his cursed marks.

…He doesn’t know what to do, honestly. In two days, he has experienced so much, felt so many emotions, and he has yet to process it all. And there is still the winding road of eternity ahead of him, a future that promises anything but salvation. But tonight…

Tonight, he shall close his eyes and accept his fate.

Perhaps he will even dream of you.

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving characters or dynamics not included in my masterlist.

At long last…..Dain’s fic has been written. This has been in my drafts since April, and I’m really happy with how it turned out!! Also, if the first few bullet points look very familiar, that’s because Pierro’s fic also begins with my worldbuilding for Church AU! Khaenri’ah~

Aahhh I had a lot of fun with Darling! Dainsleif and his demon wife. I rlly enjoyed writing their dynamic, so this definitely isn’t the last time I write for them. Who knows?? Maybe I’ll spare Dain and give him less suffering (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Tag a Dainsleif enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @naraven @pranabefall @navxry @teabutmakeitazure @mochinon-yah @harmonysanreads @stickyspeckledlight

[rainforestakiie]

Vacation Away Part 01

hello. this is for @inubaki! who made me some amazing fanart for my fics! i'm so greatful! thank you so much!

'Adam and Lucifer get the same idea to take a break on earth. Adam in heaven and Lucifer in hell, both take on human form and embark to earth only to stumble in to one another. Whether or not Lucifer catches onto who Adam’s first is up to you while Adam remains clueless or in denial. They spend the weekend together and basically just begin falling in love without labels or restraint. But they are on a time limit.'

there is a second part of this. i changed it a little but i hope you like it inubaki. i love your other ideas too! so i might write them as well!

ah, hope you enjoy it at least!

Vacation Away (Adam/Lucifer goes on vacation on Earth) = Part 01. Part 02.

A month after the harrowing clash between the Exterminations and the Princess of Hell, Adam was still engulfed in torment. His head throbbed with a relentless heaviness, a dizzying fog clouding his thoughts. His body remained seared with pain, each ache a cruel reminder of his suffering. His spirit, once resilient, now lay in shambles, a shadow of the man he once was. The agony was a haunting echo of his earliest wounds, inflicted by Lilith’s poisonous actions, Eve’s heartbreak, and the ultimate devastation wrought by his archangel’s betrayal.

It was as if Adam had never healed at all. A suffocating, obsidian cloud of despair and depression seemed to cling to him, smothering any breath of relief. He gasped for air, his chest constricted by the relentless grip of sorrow. Only in those fleeting moments of waking from slumber did he feel a whisper of peace, a fleeting escape from the nightmares that plagued his restless nights.

After the brutal beating, whether he deserved it or not was irrelevant to him now. Adam found himself teetering on the brink of death once more. It was a cruel pattern, a relentless cycle of near-death encounters whenever one of the three crossed his path. Fate had a twisted sense of humour, always dealing Adam the losing hand, leaving him battered and scarred after every encounter. Despite the supposed necessity of meetings between Heaven and Hell, Adam had fought fervently to be excluded, but Sera and Michael had insisted on his involvement as the first man. His gut feeling had been right; their meetings were rife with snide remarks and veiled insults from the King and Queen of Hell. Even in silence, Adam felt like nothing more than their designated punching bag.

His ego was shattered, bruised by the beating inflicted by the very one who had once hurt him the most. Adam was merely following orders, never wishing to become an instrument of death against the Sinners. Yet, Heaven's demands were unyielding, and Sera’s insistence on his involvement only deepened his misery. Adam, who never sought this path, found himself trapped in a relentless cycle of pain and sorrow.

Adam could never see things from the Princess of Hell's perspective. To him, she was naive, far too sheltered to truly grasp the gravity of the souls she sought to redeem. Adam had never wanted to be involved in the first place. He preferred to feign ignorance, to pretend he was unaware of humanity's darkest deeds. There was a clear reason why a human soul descended to Hell instead of ascending to Heaven. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't for minor transgressions or even serious crimes where remorse was shown. Heaven's gates were not as stringent as many believed. Not a single Sinner in Hell was innocent; every soul there had committed grievous acts against humanity, acts of harm and murder, devoid of remorse or repentance.

The Princess of Hell, in Adam’s eyes, was utterly foolish. She was delusional to think that smiles, trust, and rainbows could redeem those who had no regret for the heinous crimes that damned them to Hell in the first place. Without genuine remorse, the gates of Heaven would remain forever closed to them.

Perhaps Adam had embraced his role as Leader of Extermination too fervently, but the Princess was blind to the dangers she courted. She stirred emotions, rattled cages, and pushed boundaries without understanding the consequences. The Angels were duty-bound to protect the righteous, and if the Princess had her way, victims would be forced to confront their worst perpetrators in Heaven—a perverse and cruel outcome.

What she was doing was fundamentally wrong. And the so-called snake, the King of Hell, wouldn’t even enlighten her about the true nature of Hell and its Sinners. To Adam, it was insanity. Perhaps he had been too rash, too rough, and perhaps he deserved the reprimand he received. But for heaven's sake, the Princess needed to be put in her place, too. Her actions threatened to harm more human souls.

Adam groaned, running a hand over his face. His skin prickled with anger, his golden feathers bristled. He had nearly died in Hell. After the cowardly King granted him 'mercy,' a one-eyed Sinner had stabbed him. This incident only reinforced his point. Lute had dragged him back to Heaven, to Sera and Emily, just in time. He was alive, still an Angel, but now...sicker, he guessed.

Sliding off the side of the bed, Adam’s head pulsed with a relentless, excruciating pain, and his golden wings fluttered and shuddered at his sides. The only visible remnant of his near-death experience was the star-shaped scar on his chest. The rest of his ailments were more insidious, affecting his health in ways he couldn’t fully comprehend.

The persistent knocking on his door made his dizziness worse. He wobbled towards it, dragging his wings across the floor. "Go away," he murmured.

Silence followed, and Adam foolishly thought the person had left. He had been locked in his room since his narrow escape from death. But then, a small, timid voice broke through the door.

"Adam?" Emily whimpered. "You’ve been inside for so long… please…"

Adam could never be cruel to Emily. She was one of the sweetest angels, yet she shared the Princess of Hell’s naivety about the truth of Sinners and Hell. He couldn’t bring himself to shatter her innocence; the light in her eyes would dim if she knew the full extent of the darkness. Sera had wanted to cruelly enlighten her, but Adam had begged the older Seraphim not to.

Sighing deeply, Adam opened the door, and the small Seraphim jumped in surprise. Her eyes brightened upon seeing him, but concern quickly spread across her face, her shoulders tensing with worry.

"Oh, Adam! How are you feeling?" she asked, taking hold of his hands. "You look dreadful! Have you been eating? Sleeping? Do you need anything? I can get some medicine for you."

Adam managed a small smile. Emily was probably the only one who showed him genuine care. "I’m fine, really, Emily. I just want to be left alone."

"But I haven’t seen you in so long…" Emily's wings drooped. "I wanted to check on you."

"I know you did, and I appreciate it." Adam ruffled her soft purple and white hair. "I think I need a break. A vacation or something. I need to get away from everything. My head… it’s not in a great place. It hasn’t been for a long time."

Emily sniffled. "A break? You want to get away from everyone? Even me?"

"No, no," Adam hurried to reassure her. "Not you, Emily. I just need time away from Heaven, Hell, Sera, and everything else. I’m sure there will be another meeting soon, and I know I’ll be forced to attend again…"

He desperately needed to withdraw from Extermination Day and everything related to Hell. He would figure it out eventually. "I have too much noise in my head. Too much going on, and I need time."

"Oh," Emily mumbled softly, her head slowly nodding.

She seemed deep in thought, and Adam almost worried. Emily always had strange ideas. He could see the gears turning in her little head and fought the urge not to shut the door.

"You should go to Earth!" she suddenly exclaimed brightly. "You should go down to Earth! That’s the best place to go! Nobody would think to look for you there!"

Adam paused, considering. Earth? That might be a good idea. On Earth, nobody knew who he was. In Heaven, he was always drowning in attention. It was suffocating. He couldn’t even go outside without being mobbed by Winners. It was too much. He wasn’t used to being followed around like that, having people cling to him. He would never get used to it.

Nobody knew him on Earth. The humans there wouldn’t even blink twice if they saw him.

"I mean, we can give you a disguise if you’d like?" Emily offered, her pretty wings fluttering. She smiled so brightly, so sweetly, that Adam found himself agreeing without fully thinking it through.

"But Sera would never allow it," he deflated, excitement sparking momentarily. "She would rather cut off her wings than let me go to Earth for a break. As a Seraphim, I need her permission to leave Heaven's gates..."

"I’m a Seraphim too!" Emily huffed, puffing her chest out as her angelic eye glowed. "I can give you permission, and I will deal with Sera later!"

"I don’t want to cause problems for you. Sera’s pretty… strict. We both know she’ll never be happy with this, and I don’t want you to bear the brunt of her anger." Adam frowned, recalling how terrifying Sera was when angry. He had always avoided being on the receiving end of it and couldn’t forgive himself if Emily had to endure it.

But Emily continued to glow, unfazed by the thought of Sera’s wrath. "Don’t worry about Sera. Leave her to me. I can handle her."

"But—"

Emily gave him such a pointed look that Adam was reminded that despite her small and fragile appearance, she was ten times more powerful than he was. Emily was an ancient being, maybe even triple his age.

"If you’re sure…" Adam weakly conceded.

Emily huffed, straightening her form and planting her hands on her hips. "I’ll get all the paperwork done without Sera noticing! We’ll aim for you to leave next week!"

Adam found himself smiling. This was why he adored Emily so much.

"Thank you, Emily."

She beamed in return.

A couple of days later, Emily sat at the end of Adam’s bed, surrounded by a bundle of papers. Her pretty eyes shimmered with enthusiasm as she sifted through the parchments, a sweet smile on her face.

“Or, we have these!” she sang, holding up a parchment with a long list of names. “I put together all the newest upcoming music festivals! Maybe you could attend one of these? It might be fun!”

Adam smiled crookedly, his eyes scanning the words. Emily was so considerate, so thoughtful. She had compiled numerous ideas and suggestions for his vacation, detailing places he could go and things he could try. Of course, as long as he brought her something back. She was innocent and sweet, reminding him of his own daughters.

“I really appreciate the thought, but I’m going on a break to get away from noise, not to be around more,” he said. In truth, he’d love to attend a music festival or even a concert. But his daily headaches and constant fatigue demanded a calm, still place with as few people as possible. “I need silence, I think…”

Something like Eden, a small voice whispered, but Adam ignored it.

“So, Hawaii’s out of the question then.” Emily pouted. “I heard the flowers are very pretty.”

“And the drinks are amazing,” Adam joked, his grin widening as Emily giggled.

Yet, his headache at the thought. He would love to go to Hawaii; it would be amazing. The alcohol could help ease his anxiety, and the flowers were beautiful. Adam would love to wear one of those flower leis. But Hawaii was a tourist magnet, teeming with people. While they wouldn’t recognize him, Adam wanted solitude, not the heart of a crowd. So, Hawaii was out of the question.

Flowers...like the blossoms from Eden. The sweet scent and warm summer breeze.

“Adam?” Emily tilted her head curiously.

Adam lowered his head and meekly shrugged his shoulders. “I wish I could just go to Eden for a vacation. I really miss it…”

“I’m so sorry, Adam.” Emily’s smile turned sad and gentle as she reached forward to squeeze his hands. “I’m so sorry you lost so much. If only I had been born earlier, I could have helped you. I could have fought for you back then.”

Adam sighed. “You’re so sweet, but I know I can never go back to it. But I just miss it so much. Eden is my home, and I fear I will never feel that way about another place. Heaven is nice and all, but it’s not Eden.”

Emily’s eyes shimmered with understanding, and she squeezed his hands tighter. “Maybe one day, Adam. Maybe one day you’ll find a place that feels like home again.”

"While I can't bring back Eden, I can do something else," Emily said softly. She raised her hands delicately, summoning a scroll of soft pink and purple parchment. With gentle fingers, Emily unravelled it. "I wasn't sure if you would want to. I was worried it might even offend you, but... I put together a list of towns and cities that are similar to Eden. With flowers and so on..."

Adam's eyes widened in surprise, his golden wings shimmering and twitching. "Y-You did?"

"Yes." Emily smiled sweetly, her eyes lowering to the list. "I have put together ten of the most beautiful and peaceful places you could go. Keukenhof Gardens was the first place I thought of. Called the 'Garden of Europe,' Lisse is home to Keukenhof, one of the world's largest flower gardens. It features millions of tulips and other flowers."

"Then I found out about Medellín, Colombia, known as the 'City of Eternal Spring.' Medellín hosts the annual Flower Festival (Feria de las Flores) in August, showcasing elaborate floral displays and parades featuring intricate flower arrangements." Emily explained, reading what she had noted down on the parchment with a soft hum. "Hitachi, Japan. Hitachi Seaside Park: Famous for its seasonal flower displays, this park in Hitachinaka features millions of flowers, including nemophila, tulips, and kochia, creating breathtaking landscapes that change with the seasons.

"Giverny, France. Monet's Garden: The village of Giverny is known for Claude Monet's gardens, which inspired many of his famous paintings. The gardens are meticulously maintained and feature a stunning array of flowers, including water lilies.

"Spello, Italy. Infiorate di Spello: This small town in Umbria is famous for its annual flower festival, where intricate carpets of flowers are created in the streets for the Feast of Corpus Christi.

"Brussels, Belgium. Flower Carpet: Every two years, the Grand Place in Brussels is transformed into a vibrant flower carpet made up of hundreds of thousands of begonias. The event attracts visitors from all over the world.

"Dubai, United Arab Emirates. Dubai Miracle Garden: This expansive garden is home to millions of flowers arranged in stunning designs and structures. It holds the title for the world's largest natural flower garden.

"Furano, Japan. Lavender Fields: Known for its picturesque lavender fields, Furano attracts visitors during the summer months when the fields are in full bloom, creating a sea of purple flowers.

"Madeira, Portugal. Funchal: The capital city of Madeira, Funchal, hosts the annual Flower Festival in spring, featuring parades, flower carpets, and vibrant floral displays throughout the city.

"Victoria, Canada. Butchart Gardens: Located on Vancouver Island, Butchart Gardens is famous for its beautifully landscaped gardens, featuring a diverse range of flowers and plants in various themed gardens."

Adam's heart warmed as he listened. The detailed descriptions brought each place to life in his mind. "Emily, this is incredible," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I never imagined... thank you."

Emily beamed. "I just want you to be happy, Adam. I hope one of these places can bring you some peace."

And so it was that Adam found himself standing before the enchanting Keukenhof Gardens. The allure of the "Garden of Europe" captivated him, invoking vivid memories of the Garden of Eden. The thought filled him with a renewed sense of purpose, his wings lifting gracefully instead of dragging wearily behind him.

The air on Earth surprised him with its sweetness. Despite the passage of time and the pollution that had thickened the atmosphere since Eden, Keukenhof Gardens offered a refreshing breath of purity. It wasn't quite like Eden, but it was perhaps the closest he could find.

Adam's golden eyes gleamed as they swept across the quaint city of Lisse. It was serene, just as he preferred. The surroundings beckoned with promise: the inviting Keukenhof Forest to the west, the historic Ter Specko to the north, and even a charming Black Tulip Museum nearby. Here, amidst such beauty, he felt he could finally clear his mind and heart.

Emily, bless her soul, had deftly managed to slip the paperwork approving Adam's stay on Earth past Sera. He wasn't sure what was transpiring in Heaven, but Emily had insisted he leave before Sera discovered their plan. She had even strategically omitted his Earthly location from the documents, ensuring Sera couldn't retrieve him. As the Seraphim responsible for his permission to stay, Emily alone knew his whereabouts and could visit without his consent. Sometimes, Heaven's rules worked in his favour when cleverly navigated.

Yet, Adam worried for her. He hoped Sera wouldn't be too harsh. Emily was simply doing what she believed was right, and Adam was profoundly grateful for her courage. It was the first time Heaven had done something for him, and he couldn't thank her enough.

Though Emily had wished to grant him a month or two, she had only managed a week. But that was plenty. Ample time away from the celestial struggles, the turmoil of Heaven and Hell, the conflicts of winners and sinners, and the shadows of his past heartbreak. Here, in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, Adam hoped to escape and forget.

He could pretend. He could deceive himself if he closed his eyes tightly enough, imagining he wasn't the first man but just a regular human, living a simple, serene life on Earth. For one single week, Adam will pretend he was just a normal human visiting the town of Lisse. 

His hair, now more red than brown, framed his face in soft waves. His once brilliant golden eyes had mellowed to a gentle shade of amber. The angelic tan that once graced his skin had faded to a paler hue, making his freckles stand out more prominently. Adam had grown slimmer since his days as an angel, though he still bore a slight curve in his stomach. He had lost nearly sixty percent of his former self after the Sinner had almost claimed his life. 

Even before Emily altered his appearance, his illness had rendered him nearly unrecognisable. Adam was perpetually tired, moving slower than before, with a small limp—a souvenir not from the one-eyed Sinner, but from the King of Hell’s brutal assault. The damage to his nervous system was irreparable. 

Sera and Emily had laboured tirelessly over his chest wound, trying to keep him from bleeding out. By the time they realised the extent of the nerve damage, it was too late. He had to live with the limp in his left foot and the near numbness of his right hand. But he supposed it was fine.

Adam gazed down at the white-lined paper in the book before him. His amber eyes were vacant as his mind struggled to find words.

“Are you alright, hun?” the little old lady behind the counter asked gently.

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie, and straightened up. His right hand refused to curl around the pen properly. Biting his bottom lip, he switched to his left hand. “Yes, sorry,” he replied.

The little old lady could see that Adam wasn't truly okay, but she kindly chose not to press the issue. She settled back in her oversized cardigan, her fat ginger cat napping on the counter beside her. Adam awkwardly scribbled a random name in the sign-in book, double-checking it to memorise his 'new name' before stepping back. In truth, there was no real need for a fake name or a disguise; walking around without his wings or halo would suffice. But Adam wanted to be someone else, just for the week.

“Alright then, sweetheart,” the little old lady sang as she rose with her walking stick. “Your room is just this way.”

Adam managed a small smile as he moved to follow her, pausing to pet the ginger cat. Maybe, just maybe, this week wouldn't be so bad after all.

“So, Graham, are you here to see our tulips?” the little old lady asked with a sweet hum.

Her voice brought a warmth to Adam's heart, reminding him of his granddaughter, the second human to enter Heaven. She had chosen to remain in her elderly form, a sweet little thing who would nap randomly, often requiring Adam to carry her. He hadn’t seen her since...

“Yes,” he swallowed. “I love... nature. I’ve always enjoyed flowers, trees, grass...”

“Nothing wrong with that. You seem like such a sweet young lad,” she said, leading him down the corridor of her flower-themed inn. “Such a sensitive soul you are. The youth of today aren’t interested in nature, too obsessed with electronics, like their phones. You remind me of the other young man upstairs, he signed in this morning.”

Adam sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, well... I’ve always loved nature. So I... enjoy going to see it. My plan is to go see the tulips, the flowers this week. Maybe even go to the museum.”

“Are you here just for the week?” the old lady questioned, pulling out an old ring of keys. She shuffled to an oak door adorned with a carved flower. “I own a florist shop. We specialise in all the beautiful flowers Keukenhof has to offer. My daughter used to help me run it, but my little grandson’s sick, so she hasn’t been able to work. If you’re interested, I could use a hand. Only for the mornings, so you will be free by 11:00AM.”

How sweet.

“I’d love to help,” Adam immediately said. He hadn’t worked with flowers in years and missed everything about them, everything about Eden. “I don’t need to be paid or anything. I’ll volunteer.”

“Such a nice young lad,” the little old lady hummed, unlocking the door to his room. “I don’t want to be a bother. You’ve already paid for your room, and I’ll make you hot meals on the house.”

Adam beamed. It sounded wonderful to work with flowers again, even if just for a week.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” the woman chimed. “You have no idea how much you have helped me. I wish all youngsters were like you these days.”

If only she knew Adam was thousands of years older than her. 

The florist was beautiful, and Adam's breath was taken away the moment he stepped inside. The flowers were gorgeous, each one a unique blend of shades, shapes, and sizes. Adam hadn't seen so many lovely flowers in such a long time. It was amazing to see.

He was given a sage-green apron, sandy brown gloves, and his first task: creating a bouquet. The little old lady was very friendly, patient, and sweet, teaching him how to arrange the flowers just so.

Adam was tasked with making the bouquets for orders, nothing else. It was so fun to do, and Adam never realized how enjoyable it could be. The flowers smelled lovely, and he would often stop to take in their fragrance. The florist wasn’t very big—the front had rows of flowers and plants, with a counter beyond them, and a small workshop in a room on the other side of the counter.

“Wonderful work, Graham,” the little lady cooed, taking his newest freshly made bouquet and moving it to a vase. She lightly ran her wrinkled fingers across the petals. “You really seem to have a talent with flowers. Perhaps you’ve worked in a florist before?”

Adam flushed sheepishly. “Not really. I’ve never worked in a florist before.”

“Really?” the old lady gasped, appearing surprised. “But you knew so much without me even needing to tell you. How strange.”

Shrugging helplessly, Adam smiled warmly down at the flowers around him. If the florist was this beautiful, he couldn’t wait to see how lovely the rest of Keukenhof would look.

“Mrs. Dorothy?” a familiar yet unfamiliar voice suddenly called.

The little old lady hummed, turning towards the voice. She wiped her hands on her apron and began to wobble towards a figure stepping into the doorway of the florist.

“Ah, Samuel,” Dorothy said kindly. “You’re here. Wonderful.”

Adam squinted his eyes, awkwardly wiping his gloved hands together and turning to look at this new person. Samuel, he reminded himself. A strange sensation twisted in the pit of his stomach as the figure stepped fully into the workshop, meeting Dorothy as she wobbled towards him. The old lady was speaking to him, but Adam wasn’t listening; his ears only picked up buzzing. He blinked awkwardly, glancing at the young man with a weirdness seeping over him.

Samuel appeared somewhat familiar, but Adam didn’t know why. He had never seen him before.

“Ah, Graham, this is Samuel. My other customer. He’s staying the week also at my inn,” Dorothy explained, gesturing to the man. “He’s agreed to volunteer at my florist too.”

She tilted her head to Samuel. “Samuel, this is Graham. You’ll be working together in the mornings.”

Samuel nodded with an oddly familiar smile. His blue eyes shimmered as he gazed at Adam and stepped up to him, his delicate pale hand reaching out. “It’s lovely to meet you, Graham. I hope we can get along.”

Adam stared at the hand. His stomach began to hurt, and he had no idea why. Samuel was short, reaching his shoulder. His face was cherry-shaped, with rosy cheeks and large sea-blue eyes. His hair was a strawberry blonde that curled around his face in a fashion Adam was sure he had seen before but couldn’t quite place.

When Samuel cocked his head innocently, his golden eyebrow raising, Adam mentally kicked himself. He quickly wrapped his hand around Samuel’s, a spark of electricity running through their skin at the contact. Adam almost yanked his hand back but swallowed it down. It looked as if Samuel hadn’t noticed the spark and continued to grin innocently at him.

Wait. Was it innocent? Adam felt a strong chill run up his spine. He recognized that sort of smile. It wasn’t so innocent…

“Nice to meet you too,” Adam mumbled quietly. “Um….Samuel.”

Why did the name sound so wrong to him? 

“I’m sure we’ll be spending a lot of time together.”

~#~

Lucifer was engulfed in a profound and suffocating despair, far deeper than he had ever experienced. His emotions were a chaotic, tangled mess, with an ever-increasing weight of sorrow pressing down on him each day. Even with Charlie by his side, their rekindling relationship offered no respite from the relentless grip of his depression. The once comforting presence of his rubber ducks, which used to bring a sliver of solace, now failed to pierce through his gloom.

Something was fundamentally broken within him, something he couldn't comprehend. Ever since his catastrophic fall from Eden, Lucifer had not been the same. Lilith's departure had been anticipated, yet even that couldn't account for the depth of his current despair. He was hollow, a shell of his former self. 

Though he had a room in the new 'Hazbin Hotel,' he scarcely used it. Charlie thought he had moved in with her and her friends, but Lucifer couldn't truly reside there. Each time he retired to the apple-shaped room at the hotel's corner, he would open a portal and retreat to his mansion. He couldn't explain why he kept returning to this dark, desolate building, but he did. It was as if he were expecting someone or something, and each time he found it cold and empty, his heart ached with unbearable pain.

Initially, he thought he was yearning for Lilith, clinging to the hope that she had returned, only to be devastated by her continued absence. But he soon realised that his turmoil was not about Lilith. It was something else, something he couldn't identify. Sitting in the centre of his cold, empty, and lonely chamber, Lucifer perched awkwardly on his four-poster bed, surrounded by mountains of rubber ducks. He clutched one in particular, rolling it between his claws with a lopsided frown, his red and gold eyes narrowing in scrutiny.

This little rubber duck had red curls attached to the back. He remembered crafting it years ago when he was still hopeful, still a dreamer. It was the Eve rubber duck. He placed it gently on the royal purple quilt, next to the Lilith duck, his frown deepening. His own duck was on Eve's other side, a grim reminder of something that happened centuries ago. 

His eyes drifted toward another duck placed farther away from the trio, and his chest tightened in agony. It had been so long since he had brought out his Eden rubber duck set. Lilith had never seen them. He had locked them away, for his eyes only, the guilt gnawing at him relentlessly.

With delicate claws, Lucifer picked up the duck that mirrored his own loneliness and sadness. He cradled it in his darkened hand as if fearing it might dissolve. The soft brown tufts of hair gave the duck an endearing look. He remembered remaking it countless times, never satisfied, which fueled his incessant quest for perfection in his rubber ducks. If he couldn't make Adam perfect, none of the others would be either.

This rubber duck always appeared crestfallen, perpetually sad and heartbroken, a reflection of Lucifer's own regret and foolish actions. Each time he remade the Adam duck, it always ended up with defects, odd bumps near the eyes that made it look on the verge of tears. Stroking the top of its head, Lucifer longed to comfort it, to stop its eternal weeping, but the duck remained frozen in its state of sorrow. He blinked away his own tears, trying to hold back the overwhelming tide of his own sadness.

Adam hadn't attended any meetings since that fateful battle months ago. In truth, Lucifer had expected the arrogant, self-absorbed first man to bounce back quickly. He wasn’t overly concerned when Lute had hauled Adam's beaten and bloodied body back up through the portal to Heaven. For a fleeting moment, Lucifer had wondered if he’d gone too far in his fervour to protect his daughter. His love for Charlie was boundless, and he would have obliterated anyone who dared make her cry. But Adam had already been defeated. Lucifer had done more than just defend Charlie; he had humiliated Adam, ensuring all of Hell knew just how much of a cuck the first man was.

Lucifer hadn't given it a second thought. He convinced himself that Adam needed a dose of humility and that at the next meeting between Heaven and Hell, the first man would be there, his usual brash and infuriating self. Lucifer was certain of it. He was beyond certain that when he and Charlie entered the grand hall for the meeting, Adam would be sitting in that golden chair next to Sera.

He had wagered his entire being, his magic, his rubber ducks, even Hell itself on it.

So it was soul-crushing to enter the hall and find not Adam and Sera, but Sera and a small Seraphim clearly meant as Lucifer’s replacement—and fucking Michael. The discomfort and aggression in the room were tense. 

Even the little Seraphim, whom Charlie had befriended and called 'Emily,' wasn't smiling. Charlie had said Emily was always cheerful, always beaming, but now Emily looked blank, upset, disappointed. Charlie tried to talk to her, but Emily ignored her, which clearly hurt his precious daughter.

Lucifer hadn't asked about Adam then. He let the strangeness wash over him, expecting Adam to be at the next meeting...and the next...and the next, until ten meetings had passed with no sign of the first man. Lucifer had stopped listening to the discussions, stopped caring about Charlie's arguments.

"Where's Adam?" he finally asked, and the three Angels before him darkened instantly.

"You will be dealing with me from now on," Michael spat, his aggression blinding Lucifer momentarily.

Michael and Lucifer had clashed since before the fall, never agreeing on anything. But this time was different. Michael's rage was unprecedented, even more intense than when Lucifer had defied God's plan and corrupted humanity. Lucifer was bewildered.

Charlie was shocked and confused, but neither of them received any answers.

That soul-crushing ache from centuries ago, when Adam had first caught him with Lilith, returned with tenfold intensity. It nearly made Lucifer's legs buckle beneath him. How badly had he hurt Adam? He hadn't intended to harm him so grievously. He just wanted to scare him, to send a message so Heaven would think twice before threatening his daughter again.

Emily glared, and Charlie bristled in shock when she asked if Adam was alive.

Lucifer's head spun as he sat on his bed, hugging the rubber duck to his chest with a sigh. Maybe Adam deserved some of the things he did that day on the crumbling grounds of the hotel, but he certainly didn't deserve all of it. Lucifer had gone too far. He had beaten Adam beyond recognition, beyond what he had intended and purposely humiliated him in front of all the Sinners…so nobody would ever take him seriously again…

Lucifer wanted to see Adam. No, he needed to see Adam. The most recent meeting had come just this morning, and Lucifer had decided to miss it—a decision he now realized was foolish. His absence had been the root of many problems, but he couldn’t bear the thought of going to the meeting room again and finding Adam still absent. The pain was becoming unbearable.

Groaning, Lucifer flopped back onto his bed. He held the Adam rubber duck above him, his other hand clutching his own rubber duck. Together, he held them aloft, his gaze softening with sadness. It hadn’t always been this way. Their relationship, their friendship, hadn’t always been bitter and hostile. Once, it had been sweet, gentle, and loving. Once, he and Adam had been closer than anyone could imagine. Adam had been Lucifer's entire world, and Lucifer knew he had been Adam’s world too.

But feelings, emotions, had gotten in the way. Lucifer had believed he’d fallen in love, but Adam’s betrayed expression had haunted him since. Once, when Lucifer was still hopeful, still a dreamer who believed in God's plan and ideals, he had thought that despite everything, Adam would come around and they would be close friends again.

But that never happened. Lucifer would never forget the excruciating agony of realizing that Adam hated him. Adam hated him...

“Dad?” came a sudden voice, making Lucifer jump with a startled yelp.

His rubber ducks danced in the air as he sprang up, desperately trying to catch them. The Adam rubber duck bounced onto the purple, black, and red carpet. Lucifer’s eyes fixed on it, that familiar ache tightening in his chest. Why did it always feel like Adam was running away from him?

“Dad?” Charlie stepped in, her eyes glancing around at his collection of rubber duck toys.

Lucifer awkwardly grinned, trying to hide the fact that he’d been on the verge of tears. “Charlie! What brings you here? Is everything alright with the hotel?”

Charlie’s gaze returned to her father, a strained smile crossing her lips. “Well, the meeting was this morning, and you missed it—”

She paused as she stepped forward, and Lucifer’s eyes zoomed in on her foot as she raised it above his precious Adam rubber duck. His breath caught in his throat as Charlie was about to step on it.

“Oh.” Charlie looked down, lifting her foot to see the duck. She immediately picked it up, her gaze softening. While she didn’t fully understand what her father was going through, she knew there was something he hadn’t told her. “This looks like Adam.”

“Does it?!” Lucifer squealed, too forced. He released a series of sheepish, forced laughs that made Charlie flinch. “It—it must be defective! Give it here and I’ll throw it away!”

Charlie glanced at his clawed hand and then back at the Adam duck. It definitely did not appear defective. Instead, she could tell a lot of time and effort had gone into its creation. It had ten times more detail than any other duck she had seen. With a soft hum, her delicate fingers folded around it, holding it gently. Clearly, it was an important item to her father.

“Dad,” she spoke softly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “You miss Adam.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing. “W-what? No, I don’t! He—he got what he deserved. I don’t care if—if—if he’s hurt…”

Charlie tilted her head in disagreement. “I’ve noticed it too. It’s strange that Adam isn’t in the meetings anymore. Emily…”

With a soft sigh, Lucifer dropped the fake happy persona he’d been putting on. His face immediately fell, and he swung himself over, sitting next to Charlie. “I think I really hurt him.”

“You were only protecting me,” Charlie said quietly, her eyes gazing down at the rubber duck in her hand. “He...was trying to kill me.”

“He wasn’t,” Lucifer said quickly, making Charlie blink in surprise. “I mean, I don’t know if he genuinely hated you, but he wasn’t trying to kill you. He was trying to scare you. Adam—Heaven in general weren’t allowed to attempt to kill you. It was the contract between me and Heaven, so I wouldn’t get involved in the Exterminations.”

Charlie’s face scrunched up in sadness and pain.

“I was only trying to scare him. I wanted to punish him for even trying to hurt you, for even threatening you. But the truth is, Charlie, I know better,” Lucifer groaned, running a claw down his face.

“What...what do you mean?” Charlie asked in a quiet, shaky voice.

Lucifer didn’t speak at first. He hunched his shoulders, arching his back. He rested his elbow on his thigh and tapped his clawed fingers to his chin. Lucifer carefully plucked the Adam rubber duck from Charlie’s hand and gazed down at it. “I was one of the top beings of Heaven. I was a Seraphim. The eldest of them all. I know how Heaven works. I know how it ticks.”

“Dad…” Charlie whispered, a bone-chilling coldness creeping into her heart. “Dad...are you…?”

“I doubt Adam acted alone. I mean, I haven’t seen him outside of the meetings in years, but I can't imagine the Adam I knew from Eden descending into Hell to slaughter thousands of Sinners,” Lucifer murmured, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the mountain of ducks before him. “Whether he agreed with your plan or not, the Adam I remember, who adored animals and wept when a lion attacked a deer, would never willingly lead an army to kill thousands.”

Charlie's hands clenched together, her knuckles turning white. “Dad, are you suggesting…?”

“I’m not suggesting, Charlie,” Lucifer said harshly. “I’m saying he was ordered to. You don’t defy Heaven. I am living proof of what happens when you do. It might not excuse his actions, but it is something to consider.”

Charlie covered her mouth, her face contorting in anguish. She made a choked sound, barely holding back tears. “I never thought about it that way…”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Lucifer admitted, a rare vulnerability in his voice. He closed his claws around a duck, holding it close to his chest. “I’m so...stressed.”

Charlie looked at Lucifer, her sympathy pouring out like a flood. “That’s why I came to see you. I figured you weren’t using your room back at the hotel.”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry,” Lucifer flinched. “I just…”

“You don’t need to explain. I already know,” she smiled weakly, placing a comforting hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. “I was thinking, maybe you should go on vacation?”

“Vacation?” Lucifer repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Me? The nonexistent King of Hell? I’ve only just begun to take my role seriously. Can you imagine what they will say if I just up and leave now? After that battle? I will never hear the end of it.”

With a broken, exhausted groan, Lucifer buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. Who knew taking the role of King of Hell seriously would be so draining?

"I just need five minutes. That's all. I'll be better in five minutes," he said.

Charlie wasn't sure if Lucifer was speaking to her or himself. It was clearly a lie. She rubbed his shoulder, worry etching her face. It was the first time she truly saw her father for who he really was—a sad, broken man. She had been too young to understand, to see the depths of his depression.

"Dad, this isn't healthy," she spoke softly. "None of this is healthy for you. You're...you're practically killing yourself."

Lucifer's head snapped up, his eyes wild. "What are you talking about? I'm fine! I'm okay, you don't need to worry!"

"Dad..." Charlie deadpanned, gesturing to the piles of ducks around them. "You're not fine. You need time, and no, I don't mean time here. Locking yourself away in a dark, damp, and cold mansion isn't going to help you. If you don’t feel comfortable being at the hotel with me, then let me send you on vacation away from the Pride Ring. Away from Hell."

In that moment, she looked every bit the Princess of Hell, and someday, the Queen. Lucifer's chest swelled with pride, but only for a fleeting second before everything crumbled again.

"Charlie, I can't really go anywhere," he said weakly. "It's kind of you to offer, but I can't leave Hell. I'm bound to Hell."

Charlie grinned widely, a reflection of him. "I thought about that. I think you should go to Earth."

"Earth?" Lucifer repeated, eyebrows raised. "Once again, I can't leave Hell. I am bound to Hell."

"You can if you're summoned," Charlie sang, pride evident in her voice. "If someone summoned you and you entered into a contract. Say, a week-long contract of relaxing?"

That was true. By the law of Heaven, Earth, and Hell, the only way the devil himself could leave Hell was by contractual summoning. He used to be summoned frequently in the earlier years. But as humans grew more corrupt, they stopped believing in Lucifer and ceased summoning him. In many ways, it had been a blessing in disguise. After being trapped in Hell for so long, being summoned to Earth and seeing the blue skies had been wonderful. But it hurt doubly when he returned to Hell.

Lucifer could foresee that aching pain returning if he agreed to Charlie's plan. He saw the flaws in it. It was almost laughable, really. But at the same time, Lucifer's heart fluttered in a way it hadn't in centuries. He wanted out. He needed time away from Hell, from his depressed room filled with ducks. He needed to clear his mind, clear his head, and come back with a fresh perspective.

"And who would be foolish enough to summon the King of Hell?" Lucifer asked, eyeing his beloved daughter. "Because last time I checked, humans aren’t exactly summoning demons anymore."

They no longer needed to. Humans had become so corrupt that they didn’t need Hell or demons to commit terrible and awful crimes against humanity. They did it themselves now, which honestly proved everything Heaven feared. There was so much Charlie didn’t know—the true reason Heaven would never let Sinners through the golden gates.

"Alastor knows somebody," Charlie began before pouting when Lucifer’s face soured. "Dad, please. He isn’t that bad!"

"Of course he is," he grumbled sullenly. "He knows somebody who would summon the King of Hell himself! Unbelievable!"

"He’s trying to help!" Charlie insisted. "It’s an old family friend. She’s old, on the verge of death herself, but she owes Alastor a favor still."

Lucifer scoffed. "You mean she summoned Alastor, and now he owns her soul. What did he offer her? Freedom from their deal if she does this little favor for him? Out of the goodness of his heart?"

Fucking bullshit. His hair stood on end, and his skin prickled when Charlie simply continued to stare. Clearly, he had hit the nail on the head.

"Charlie!" Lucifer exclaimed, his body twitching, the burn on his back forming with his wings beginning to burst out. If Alastor had tricked his little girl! "How did you get this favor? What did you offer?"

Charlie held her hands up. "Calm down. It’ll only be for a week. There are no strings attached. I didn’t make a deal with Alastor or anything. He just overheard Vaggie and me and said he could offer his assistance."

"For free?" Lucifer growled, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

The Princess of Hell groaned deeply. "Dad, please. This is a great opportunity for you! You said so yourself, you’re drowning in here! You need time away from Hell, from this mansion, and everything else! From Heaven and its rules! It’s only a week!"

"Anything can happen in a week," Lucifer shot back. "It’s too dangerous. I don’t trust him."

Charlie released a deep, exhausted sigh. She stood up and crossed her arms, looking away sheepishly before glancing back. "Well...you don’t really have a choice, Dad."

"What?" Lucifer blinked slowly, his eyebrows creasing. "What do you mean I don’t have a choice?"

Charlie breathed in deeply, a twitchy smile spreading across her lips. "I mean...it’s already been arranged. You’re going to be summoned at dawn."

"Charlie!"

[ohmotherwhereartthou-if]

What would be the ROs' reaction to suddenly being teleported into the past and finding MC as a child, alone, orphaned and mistreated? D":

Awww! Amazing ask!

Cassandra: She would be APPALLED. She honestly would 100% not recognize MC, all dirty and starved, but she would step in and spit holy hellfire, verbal abuse back at every single villager. She would put them down so harshly, violently condemning their actions. Would demand better treatment for MC and not fully recognize them until they are cleaned up and look into her eyes. And once she knows who this terribly mistreated and abused young child is... 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' is a fucking understatement.

Valeria: Would be heartbroken on the spot, standing in front of MC to shield them and yells at the villagers to find their humanity. She would challenge their faith and throw scripture in their faces to further condemn their actions, how anybody could ever be so cruel? To a child no less! Even more so when she can see they have a church/chapel in town, she believes this whole town's behavior is practically blasphemy. She would care for MC before even realizing who they are, once she does she is beyond consolable. Her heart would absolutely WEEP for MC and what they had to suffer through, nobody deserves to have to be treated this way as a kid. You should of been loved...

Tomás: He would be so confused why a little kid is being so mistreated? He wouldn't understand and approach them in private, he would feel a kindred to a fellow outcast. Him being a Castellion in what is obviously a Romandi descending town would put him instantly on everybody's shit list, which feels pretty much the same as it does back home honestly. But once he knows who you are? Oh, people are going to get HURT. But that will come after he sweeps the little MC into his arms and carries them far away from this terrible place. He will nurture MC to health first, destroy that village and cause real permanent pain to the ones who hurt you second.

-

Ludovica: I would like to think she would recognize MC almost instantly, and never, NEVER, had Ludovica wished such harm and pain upon others as much as she does right now. She has never hated her parents or even her late husband as much as she hates these people, she wishes she could channel all of the terrible effects she has on the lives of people around her and focus it on this blight of a village. She would pull MC in and hold them close, promising to never let anything else bad ever happen to them again, not while she is around. She would die for them, she would wipe this stain of a village off of the face of the earth forever if she could, in a fucking heartbeat. She would even pray for there to actually be a hell, just so she could live in comfort knowing that there will be a special place there, just for these people after death.

Aurelio: He would feel very indignified on the orphan's behalf, Aurelio is no stranger to seeing extreme poverty; as much as he loves his homeland and country, he knows Romandi has a rampant habit of leaving small hamlets like this one behind to suffer as a result of policy changes made politicly. However, that does not excuse such horrid treatment of a child in this manner. He would step in wordlessly and remove the orphan from where they lie and walk them over to a nearby stall and buy (practically the whole stall) whatever he feels the poor little kid needs, he he didn't have any actual money on him at the time he would trade whatever expensive jewelry he was wearing at the time without a second thought. The needs of a kid are obviously so much more of value than any stupid trinkets. And if he gets any objections from the townspeople and he starts threatening to buy out the whole town and turn it into storage space for whatever next business industry he goes into next. His brain would go into computer mode, trying to figure out how to drag this town out of poverty and establish some sort of supply line out here. His reach of influence stems heavily from being on actual Romandi soil, he can tell easily this is somewhere in Luogo where the lines of authority and power get blurry since it's practically a free territory. He would be so focused on logistics he wouldn't notice who exactly this little kid is until MC would try and talk to him, he would look into their face and squint a bit. He would kinda go, "Huh, you look a bit like someone I know... I think they mentioned once they were also from Luogo." and once MC keeps talking he would pick up on the familiar speech pattern and/or temperament. Because he is such a logical guy, he would think you two were just related somehow before he would ever conclude that this is in fact the past you. MC would have to basically tell him their name for everything to finally click. And once it does? Fuck this little town, let them waste away. They do not deserve his help. He would instead try to figure out a way back home with little MC in tow, he doesn't know how exactly he ended up in the past but what he does know, is that he needs to get MC as far away from this place as possible.

Elio: I love to shit on Elio as a personal pastime but I think this would be a very interesting encounter, especially if we go with the idea he and MC are already a couple and MC taught him to have better compassion and empathy. His first reaction would still be that of a little prissy bitch at how run down and dirty this town is lol, but once he sees MC getting mistreated he sort of gets some personal flashbacks of his own childhood. Feeling a kindred connection, he would intervene on MC's behalf. He would stand in front of them to protect them and even offer the villagers take out their frustrations on him instead, since they obviously are looking for an outlet and pathetically decided a defenceless little orphan was their best bet. He would talk so condescending to them all that they definitely would take him up on that offer, trying to beat him up, and trying is the key word here. Because I have said it somewhat recently somewhere that while Elio is a lazy bastard, he is surprisingly sturdy. He would not fight back, nor could he even if he wanted to, he never bother learning how to properly fight or physically defend himself, but stoically taking a beating without making any noise and hardly moving? He learned to master that sadly at a very young age. Once the villagers get tired or too frustrated to keep beating a punching bag that hurts to hit, they leave. With a few bruises he would just shake it off a bit, walking a bit funny but otherwise fine; he would then move to check on little MC. Him being the other one of the few RO's to instantly recognize them now that he is looking directly at their face. His eyes are wide but his face looks just as stoic as it usually is, only if little MC knew to read his microexpressions like their older self could. They would then know Elio is FURIOUS right now. He would pick up MC and walk them a good distance away from the village, make sure they are safe and comfortable before walking back to Lontapiso calmly to burn it to the ground.

[libby-for-life]

Idea

We’ve had a lot of yandere Lucifer where he captures Adam but what if Adam falls and wakes up in hell, realizes that he’s totally fucked and needs protection, and after a month or more of desperately trying to find another way out of it and getting murdered several times he admits defeat and goes to the one place he knows he’ll be… well, not safe but also not a homeless target. Lucifer’s castle

The journey there feels like a walk to his own execution. He turns around multiple times, desperately trying to find another solution but nothing works.

He finally makes it to the gates and is stoped by a pair of guards. “Tell Lucifer that Adam is here”

They do

The smile Lucifer greets him with could freeze hell

Overjoyed at the fact that he didn’t need to find Adam, his little lamb came to him.

Adam sobbed into his hands as he recounted his last horrific death. It was brutal and Adam swore he could still feel the phantom pains of those hands digging into his organs. How they ate them right in front of him.

He shivered and curled in on himself in the alleyway. Everything hurt and he just wanted to sleep. Preferably forever.

Of course, there was one idea...

Adam bit his lip. He swore to himself that he would never think of that option. There had to be a different way. He just had to be more careful.

'But that hasn't been working well, has it?'

Adam felt himself beginning to cry again. He was tired of dying. He was tired of being hurt and molested in an alleyway for the sick fucks down here.

'You could go to him. He would....well, it would be better than being homeless.'

Adam stood up, feeling dizzy by the sudden movement. He had to leave before dark. That's when they came out.

It felt like he was moving through syrup, his feet dragging as he walked to the tallest building in the Pride Ring. Lucifer's palace.

He hated how much pain and hunger he was in.

Several times he almost turned around and ran back to his alleyway. This was the only way though. He was tired of dying. He was tried of hurting.

He got to the entrance and came across a guard. They brandished their swords but Adam had seen enough blades being shoved into him for it to have little to no effect on him fear-wise

"Tell Lucifer Adam is here." The guards exchanged glances before one of them ran off to inform their king. Adam could feel himself shaking. Why did it feel like he was tying his own noose right now?

Lucifer walked outside and Adam froze at the sight of his expression. It was cold, dangerous, and obsession all woven together to form the smile that the devil wore.

"Adam. Looking terrible. Run into any cannibals lately?" Adam jerked at those words. Those words were specific. The last things he ran into was cannibals.

Lucifer was watching him suffer. Of course he was.

A gold chain wrapped around his neck and Adam yelped as he was pulled forward into Lucifer's embrace. "I'm glad you came, little lamb. Because I am never letting you go."

[wormshirt]

As someone who uses a mobility aid and has muscular tension that cause me general body and joint pain and stiffness from the hips down on both sides what would kill me with doctor who wouldn't be the running it'd be the fucking stairs. They don't always have stairs in doctor who but oh boy when they do. I can run super fast and then inevitably injure my hips and suffer through it and keep limping along through the pain but if it's a flight of stairs between me and safety I'm so dead. If I don't take those stairs 1 step at a time my knees WILL lock or my muscles will throw such a massive hissy fit that it'll take me TWICE the time it takes your average person to go up those stairs and I will be killed or kinapped or put through some strange and unusual scifi horror by step 3. The doctor and I (limping) run down 50000000 hallways and we reach the end of a hall with only a reasonably sized staircase on the other end of it and the doctor immediately starts vaulting up the steps 3 at a time until he turns around and notices that I have stopped completely at the bottom of the steps to stare at him blithely. He starts trying to get me to go up the stairs or ask what the hell I think I'm doing and I slowly lower myself back down to the ground and cross my arms over my chest and begin reciting funeral prayers with a serene smile. The big evil monster comes after me and I am eaten. Badly. The doctor yells NOOOOO really loud and cries a little maybe idk and then is emo about it for like half a season until they end up back by the staircase in a season finale or something and it's revealed that the stairs are magic stairs that preserve the conciousness of any ugly ass bitch who hates staircases enough and the doctor is implied to have know this all along. and the doctor gives me some heartbroken major depressive disorder poster child look and a little speech about how they "couldn't have come back here for blah blah excuses reasons" and I smile sweetly and say "why the fuck didn't you have an emergency exit strategy or some shit incase the guy who uses a fucking cane couldn't do some shit like go up stairs super fast because he uses a fucking cane. Hello. Not even mad. Are you stupid. You are a timelord. Your people let your gay ass fuck off to who knows where because you're the dumbest timelord ever and they couldn't stand your stupid ass. I can't believe I'm stuck on this gay ass space station with this lame ass death for all of eternity because you didn't think that the guy who struggles to go up stairs would struggle to go up stairs. You wanna know what the alien said to me before he ate me. He said hey that dude you're here with sucks so bad and is stupid and gay and lame as hell. And I would have said 'yeah lol' but then he ate me. He ate me because of stairs doctor. Stairs." And then I'd stay forever trapped with my soul in that staircase just so I could spend the rest of enternity sending spam calls and telemarketers to the tardis phone. The doctor's investigating something outside an alien bar somewhere and sees ads like XXX Brittany Wants To Spend a NIGHT With YOU Sexy! Hot Singles in your area! Call here for a night of FUN! HOT SINGLE Xxeksifloryean Milfs Looking For a MATE in GALAXIES NEAR YOU!!!!❤️❤️❤️ and softly puts a hand on the posters and goes "I'm sorry I couldn't save you....." five seconds later jerry from *TOTALLY REAL* intergalactic statefarm NOT A FAKE NOT A SCAM calls up the doctor on the TARDIS phone to ask about the doctor's insurance info. Somewhere I kick an ugly ass step on a stupid fucking staircase and break my ghost toe. I hop around and start swearing.